


A Matter of Time

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: AU, Crossover, M/M, time travelers wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>summary</b> An AU set in the Trek universe which explores a different beginning for Jim and Bones. Leonard McCoy suffers from chrono impairment, a genetic disease which causes him to time travel against his will. When teenage McCoy travels back in time and meets Jim Kirk aged six, in a meadow in Iowa, it is the beginning of a close friendship which will mark both their lives forever. The story tracks Kirk and McCoy’s relationship, McCoy’s search for a cure and Jim’s path to finding himself.</p><p>A Kirk/McCoy (AOS) lovestory in 10 parts</p><p><b> warnings</b> angst, romance, underage teen sex, references to miscarriage, implied physical abuse to a minor, some mild violence, rimming, selfcest</p><p>http://anoncomment7.livejournal.com/24585.html - ART   -   by anoncomment7<br/>http://leighblack.livejournal.com/1092273.html - fanmix - by  leighblack</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><b>intriguing snippet</b> <i>“Even when there are other people, there’s only us. You’re the one told me that when I was just a kid.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this story is heavily inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffinegger, it exists very much in it’s own universe and be assured, if you’re familiar with that novel, that while I’ve stolen one or two ideas, it takes it’s own path and the ending is _totally_ different! All quotes at the beginning of sections are from Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll. Note that where McCoy’s age is in brackets, this is a ‘time-travelling’ age and will not ‘fit’ with the date at the beginning of a section. There are additional notes at the end of part 10, but no peeking as they contain spoilers!
> 
> Most of all, I want to thank my beta awarrington who has mentored me throughout, provided endless, patient encouragement and guidance, polished up my Vulcan Speak, helped me make shit up, put up with my punctuation fail and, most of all, worked out the science-babble without which this fic would have sucked. One or two passages in chapters 8 and 9 are entirely hers but she’s so modest she denies it. So, I’ll take all the credit, though I _know_ where ideas came from when I was stuck and needed them. Thank you, finally, for believing in this fic, bb, and for giving up so much of your time to reading and re-reading it. While any errors and plot holes at this stage are entirely mine, patient reader, please be assured, I’ve really given this my best effort.
> 
>  
> 
> Written for Star Trek Big Bang 2010.

**Part 1**

 **Alice: “If it had grown up, it would have made a dreadfully ugly child; but it makes rather a handsome pig, I think.”**

 _2239: Iowa: Jim is 6, Leonard is (14)_

Jim  
Jim lies on his back staring up at a big, blue sky. While the clouds are few and far between, he can tell things are changing – it’s just that time. He can read the signs. Jim’s latest thing is the weather, but not just any weather; Jim loves tornados like mad – since he’s seen a show on the nets about storm chasers. He likes that idea a lot, and when he’s big, he’s going to get all the equipment, make some of it himself maybe, and drive real fast, eyeballing twisters. He touches his throbbing cheek, wondering if he’d feel quite this battered and bruised if he’d been lifted up and dumped by one.

Shame he can’t drive. In fact, shame he’s only six and he’ll have to wait at least five or so years until his feet can even reach the pedals of his dad’s car. It’s been sitting under a dust cloth for as long as he can remember. Sometimes he’ll sneak in, hide out inside - it had been _easy-peasy_ to work out the combo on the alarm.

“See, you _asshole_ , not as dumb as you think!” Jim shouts up at the firmament, fingers pinching gently at his tender bottom lip like cleaner fish.

Jim likes to wriggle under the tarp, get inside the back seat with his flash-light, spread all his stuff out and lie back in his secret den, his face pressed against ancient leather, wondering what it might have been like when his dad drove the Chevrolet. Jim imagines his mom in the passenger seat looking adoringly at his dad, corn-colored hair flying. She’s never looked at Jim like that, so he has no idea if he’s got the image right or anything but he’s watched enough movies with happy families and loving moms to have some idea. And, he’s seen plenty of holos from before he was born, knows how long her hair was then. She cut it all off sometime after ‘it’ happened.

Jim turns carefully onto his belly. He’s flattened a small area of long grass, just big enough for him and his rucksack, and he’s spread his towel out. No one will find him here, either, he thinks, hiccupping as the last remnant of a sob echoes through his slight frame. He rubs at another sore area around his eyebrow as he watches a grasshopper climb up a stalk inches from his face. The birds are busy around him, oblivious to his plight. And they won’t mind his cussing , so Jim tries a word out.

“Fuck,” he whispers, they, _everyone_ can just ‘fuck’. His body trembles at the power of the word.

Jim feels inside his pocket for the tiny, metal dog figure he found wedged behind the back seat of the Chevrolet. It goes everywhere with him and he painted it chocolate brown once. He rests it on the towel centimeters from his chin.

“Bones, we’re safe here,” he says.

Damn - he wants a real dog so bad that he almost sets off crying again. He imagines burying his face in Bones’ neck if he was real, how the dog might lick his tears away and be his friend. Jim just _knows_ he’ll never get one now, not after what’s just happened. Frank won’t allow it; Frank, the evil giant, the big bad wolf, the Klingon Emperor in his life, but just until Mom comes back, maybe in the holiday, and then Frank’ll pretend to be Captain Nice and Mom will _believe_ him. It’s not _fair_. Jim wishes he had, _needs_ someone, something to hang with. He’s kind of sick of being all alone. His body aches with it.

“Hey!” says a voice behind him. Jim gasps, scrabbles for the phaser Mom gave him on her last trip Earthside. He’s never separated from it, ‘cept when he’s at school. He’s taken to hiding it, always in different locations, so he can pick it up on his way home, in case of a Klingon attack.

“I…I’ve got a gun,” Jim says. His voice might be high pitched but Jim knows a weapon makes him anyone’s equal, and whoever it is won’t know it’s been disabled – you can’t get toy phasers look this real.

“Hail, Terran, put your weapon down, I mean you no harm.”

It sounds like something from Jim’s favorite TV show. “Do you like Star Quest?” Jim asks. He can’t see anyone, but he figures the voice is coming from maybe five meters away. “And I can’t put it down, ‘cause I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers, see?”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve been raised right,” the voice chuckles. “And sure, I like Star Quest.”

“Come out so I can see you. I won’t shoot.” Jim’s proud of the way he manages to control the tremor in his voice – and his hope, that whoever it is will be fooled by his weapon, has paid off ‘cause the voice says:

“I’m pretty scared here, but I don’t want to come out, something, er…, see -- something happened to my clothes.” The stranger clears his throat and Jim can feel his heart beating hard, ‘cause the voice sounds closer now. Jim still can’t see anyone - maybe the guy’s really short. Maybe he’s crawling on his hands and knees.

Jim glances around for an escape route, stands up and braces his legs wide, holding the gun up with two hands like he’s seen in the movies –they’re only shaking a little. Jim remembers what the big kids at school sound like, with their threatening, oh-so-bored voices, the ones who push him around. He pretends to be one of them and says:

“Don’t take another step. I’m _going_ to shoot. I’m not supposed to talk to people I don’t know and ‘specially ones not wearing any clothes.” Jim moves into a crouching position and glances at his rucksack. He has his comm in there; he can always call the cops. Also, he can run real fast. He’ll leave his towel, collect it later -- when the coast’s clear.

“I do have a really good explanation for why I’m stuck here in a meadow in nothin’ but my birthday suit. Do you wanna hear it?” the disembodied voice asks.

Jim doesn’t answer and instead starts a backwards shuffle, the phaser tucked in the back of his shorts, the grass spiking his knees and the palms of his hands. He’s going to head for the clump of trees the other side of the meadow, only a minute away at a good sprint. But, he stops when he hears:

“Hey, kid, you interested in time travel?”

The part of Jim that loves danger, the kind of danger makes him happy, the kind he _chooses_ to dive into, not the kind that has him locking his bedroom door and cowering under the covers, stands to attention. He palms the phaser again, but keeps it low, by his leg just in case and sits back on his haunches.

“Time travel? _Cool_.” Jim squints, trying to see through the swaying grass, thinks maybe he can make out something.

He hears another chuckle. “Hey, toss over that towel and I’ll come out. Then you’ll see for yourself that I’m not the big bad wolf.”

Jim has to admit, that even with the whole naked thing, and the fact that he’s yet to see the stranger’s face, he doesn’t really feel under threat and Sam’s said he’s got good in-stinks, explained to Jim that means he knows what to do and what’s right, when to trust people. This voice is a kind voice, nothing like Frank’s, when he’s faking friendly…

“I’ll throw it over to you but you’ve gotta promise not to come any closer. Or I’ll tell my step-dad. He’s real mean,” Jim says. He can see the grass moving a little, just ahead and to the right a bit.

“Okay, well I don’t want to get on the wrong side of him. What’s his name?”

Jim’s not sure he wants to say, thinks about it and sighs.

“Frank. He’s an asshole.”

The stranger snorts with laughter but doesn’t chew Jim out for cussing, so Jim balls up his special bath towel, the one with starships all over, and throws it over the long grass. A cloud of insects erupts overhead when it lands.

“Thanks – got it!”

Jim holds his breath, waits, heart drumming in his ears, until the stranger eventually stands up, towering over the swaying stems, over Jim. Jim lets out a puff of air when he sees it’s just a kid, maybe Sam’s age, maybe older. He has dark eyebrows, thick, messy hair, tan skin and a mouth like a girl’s. ‘course, he still looks naked – the towel’s probably lower down, out of sight, but something tells Jim he’ll be okay. So he doesn’t step back when the boy takes a couple of tentative steps towards him, one hand out-stretched like Jim’s seen people do with dogs, to make friends.

“You look real silly,” Jim says, taking in the sight of the tall, skinny figure with kind eyes who looks like maybe he’s been in a fight too, the way one of his cheeks is red. The boy’s tied the beach towel round his hips and long fingers hold it tight. Jim’s eyes flicker to a long welt down his ribs but doesn’t mention it. Jim knows the rules about stuff like that. “Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” he asks cocking his head. Well, it’s a good question. His teacher always says Jim asks good questions, right before she changes the subject.

The boy ducks his chin, opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything so Jim tries again.

“What’s your name?”

For a moment there’s just the buzz of insects, crickets and the rustle of the grass stems.

“Leonard, Leonard McCoy -- I know it’s lame, “a big, toothy smile and the boy’s braces glint in the sun —.”What about you?”

“I’m not supposed to say ‘cause I don’t know you and, and - you’re weird.” But Jim’s phaser’s on the towel now and Jim’s settled back, sat down cross-legged fiddling with a scab on his knee.

“Not so weird, well, apart from the time travelling part.”

Leonard takes another step towards him, so Jim leans away a little, never taking his eyes off Leonard.

“ _Yeah_ you time travel!” Jim scowls. “I don’t believe you. No one can do that yet – unless you’ve figured out how to manipulate wormholes and black holes and, _and_ if you have, how come I haven’t heard about it – it’s only in movies.” Leonard Lame Name doesn’t know a _thing_ about time-travel.

“Manipulate! Ha – you’re one smart little kid! Hey, I hate to prove you wrong, but it _is_ possible.”

Jim’s suddenly all breathless, his questions flying out of him like bees from a hive.

“How? Are you an alien? Or have you got a machine?” Jim chews a nail to calm down. “What’s it like in the future? I wanna see.” He feels his bottom lip again. “Can I come with you?” And, in all this time, while they’ve been talking, Leonard’s ended up standing real close to Jim, so Jim can smell his sweat. He curls up his nose.

“I’m from the -- _your_ \--future. See I travel back in time.” Leonard looks at Jim sideways, his eyes bright while he waits for a reaction. Grins when Jim says:

“No _way_!”

“Yeah way.” Leonard nods, puffs out a breath through his nose, gazes down at Jim.

“Can you go forwards too?” Jim wants to know.

Leonard’s thick eyebrows meet. “I’m not sure…I haven’t yet but my Gram, she was a jumper too, said she’d been to the future…I dunno. Thing is, I can’t stop it happening… usually.” Leonard’s voice fades away like he doesn’t want to tell Jim stuff, like Jim won’t understand or something and Jim feels tears welling up again, bites his lip.

Leonard sits down on the grass, stretches his legs out, crosses his ankles, and tucks the towel around his legs. He’s rubbing his head like he feels sick and now he’s this close, Jim thinks he can smell puke.

“Tell me stuff if it’s true! “ Jim says. “I wanna know if I play baseball for the Hawkeye’s – see, _that’s_ what I want to do when I’m big. Or maybe be a pilot for Starfleet – I haven’t decided yet. Maybe I could play baseball in my spare time.”

“That _would_ be cool,” Leonard nods, and Jim likes that he doesn’t seem to think this is a stupid idea.

Then a thought occurs to Jim. “Hey, do you know my mom?”

Leonard looks away. “I can’t tell you things about people, kid, and it’s best if you don’t tell me her name and stuff – it can get intense knowin’ what’s going to happen, not being able to tell people.”

“But that’s not fair – you _said_ , and stop calling me kid, you’re like my brother, he’s always saying that.” Jim grinds his teeth – he’s _not_ a baby.

“But I can tell you about some cool inventions, well not _too_ much,” Leonard frowns.

“I’m old enough to know stuff, I _am_. It’s cause it isn’t true, you’re just making it up.” Jim burrows in his back-pack. “I’ll let you see something I got I’ve never let anyone see - you wanna know what my mom looks like?”

“Sure…it’s not likely I’ll ever meet her.” Leonard sighs then stares intently at Jim when the holo sparks to life. “Your mamma’s in Starfleet - that’s great!”

“Yeah—“Jim says. They don’t talk while he tucks the holo and his phaser away in his back pack. Then he remembers his precious dog figure, scoops it up, curls his fist around it. Jim looks at Leonard’s boney knees then asks, without looking at his face, “Where’s your mom?” He shoves Bones into his pocket when he thinks Leonard won’t notice.

Leonard brings a hand up to his forehead, rubs the space between his eyebrows and he almost whispers, “She…um…she died.”

Jim’s eyes widen. He thinks about how sad his Mom is, how he’s not allowed to talk about ‘it’ and he twitches his lips, tries to think of something he _is_ allowed to say.

“Why haven’t you got any clothes?”

Leonard shrugs and then sighs. “See, when you time-travel, you can’t bring anything with you.”

“Why not?” Jim thinks this is dumb. What’s the point of time-travel if you always end up naked? It’s stupid.

“When it happens,” Leonard goes on, “first I get all dizzy. It’s like I’m falling down a hole or somethin’, then I’m on the ground and I feel real sick. It makes me puke up, you know, like when you get motion sickness – I get that too.”

Jim thinks about Sam’s green face when they get off rides at the Thresherman Festival and feels a bit sorry for Leonard. “I like going real fast – it makes my tummy all warm, but I like it.”

“Well, lucky you, but I don’t think it’s like that, or maybe it is, I dunno but, point is, when I ‘land’, it’s just me, just my skin and muscle and bones – my clothes get left behind wherever I was at the time. Gram used to say only jumpers can travel through the fourth dimension and you can’t bring anything with you. Damned annoying I can tell ya.”

Jim giggles and wrinkles up his nose at that, the thought of an old lady naked.

“What’s the fourth dimension?”

Leonard waggles his eyebrows, leans towards Jim and makes a TV voice. “Time,” he says, his voice boomy, like the intro on _Star Quest._

 _Wow._

“But, can’t you make special clothes, yanno, if you’re so clever?”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “I never said I was _so clever_ , did I? If I was, I wouldn’t travel at all. I’d find a way to stop – God knows I’ve tried.” Leonard leans forward, whispers, “Hey -wanna know something weird? There’s _another_ me _now_ …somewhere.”

“I don’t’ get it.” Jim thinks, then – “I _know_ \- you’re a twin!”

Leonard laughs, looks at Jim sideways. “No, I’m not a twin.”

“There’s twins in my homeroom – stupid girls. I hate girls.”

Leonard lowers his eyes, smiles to himself. “Yeah, I guess they can be damned annoying – but some of them are kinda cool – you’ll see. I got a girlfriend – she’s pretty with blonde hair and eyes like cornflowers.”

“That’s gross,” Jim says sulkily, wishes Leonard would stick to talking about interesting stuff, like the fourth dimension, not sissy girls.

Leonard runs his hand through his hair. “Okay, sorry, I guess that is gross.” He smiles. “So, like I was sayin’, no – not a twin, there’s just _another_ me. See I’m from – hey, what year is this?”

“2239,” Jim says. He knows kids his age don’t even know all their months of the year – _babies_.

“Okay, I was born in ’27 – so can you work out how old I am?”

“Yeah, that’s easy – you’re twelve!” Jim says eagerly.

“You’re one smart kid that’s for sure! Okay, see if you can understand this, ‘cause I sure can’t—”

Jim notices how Leonard says things funny – how he makes the word ‘can’t’ long, like he’s a cat talking or something, then sometimes his voice doesn’t sound like a kid for a second, and it’s all deep and trumpety. “You talk weird too.”

Leonard rolls his eyes again. Jim notices he does that a lot. “No – _you’re_ the one talks weird…damned Yankees…and anyways, my voice is breaking.” Jim frowns, doesn’t know what he means. He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t understand stuff and he’s about to ask how a voice can ‘break’ when it’s not made of anything and Leonard puts up a hand to stop him. “Now listen good, see if you can get this.” Leonard puts one hand in front of him and to the side to help explain. “It’s like this…“There I am in the future,” Jim looks at Leonard’s hand. “Then - ‘pooft’!” Leonard mimes an explosion or something, moves the hand that’s supposed to be him, along in a line to his left, “And I’m gone. I’ve jumped. I’m here, not there anymore – you following this?”

Jim stares at Leonard’s hands. He’s brought the other one up too now, both hands in fists, side by side, they’re supposed to be two Leonards. Jim nods.

“Yeah, it’s easy, then what?”

“Well, here – in 2239 - there’s _another_ me, the ‘me’ from before, from _now_.The Leonard McCoy who’s jumped back from 2241, me,” Leonard taps his chest, grins at Jim, “I’m fourteen, but the one who’s in Atlanta now, _he’s_ still 12.” Leonard waves a hand vaguely, as if he’s pointing to Atlanta. He brings both his hands back down to his knees, and tucks the towel under his thighs again.

Jim thought Leonard looked big for twelve. He’s a lot taller than Sam.

“How do you know? Does _he_ know you’re here?”

Leonard shakes his head - rubs an itch on his leg. “And where the hell is this? Iowa again? Damned flat, damned cold…dunno why, but I keep coming back to Iowa – can’t say as I like it here. Anyways – you know where Atlanta is?”

“Yeah.” Jim draws out the word, irritated. Why does everyone keep asking him these dumb questions when he’s nearly seven and they’re gonna put him a year ahead in school?

“Well, it’s a damn sight warmer than here – but then again, if I had me some clothes, eh kid?”

Jim glances at Leonard’s long, bare toes, wonders when he’ll get his towel back. “But what happens when…what if you _were_ in Atlanta and you see’d the other you?”

“We do see each other sometimes. Older me, way, _way_ older, when I’m a man with stubble on my face, _he_ comes and sees me. He…umm…” Leonard shakes his head, “…he’s like my dad or something, helps me out. He’s taught me stuff, _bad_ stuff like how to break security codes on doors, how to fight, how to steal clothes so I don’t get into trouble.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, right! I gotta know this stuff, so’s if I’m stuck in the past, I’m naked, I can get clothes or hide out – till I jump home, to my own time.”

“What if someone catches you? They’ll put you in jail!”

“He says, older me says, he’s been in jail lotsa times, but it’s no biggy.” And Jim sees Leonard do that shrug, like Sam and his friends do, like they think they’re all grown up or something.

“‘Cause you always disappear!” Jim giggles, rolls around on the grass, wishes _he_ could do that. “Hey, Bone.. _Leonard_ , can you teach me to fight?”

Leonard looks serious. “I dunno, kid, maybe, depends…who would you fight?”

“Jus’ people, lots of people.” Jim clenches his hands into fists, thinks Leonard’s going to say he’s bad, just like Frank always says he is, like those kids at school who tease him, say he’s a nerd, too damned smart for his own good, but they’re just dumb, that’s what Sam says. But Leonard doesn’t call him bad. “You gonna come back?”

Leonard nods. “Yeah, I’d like to but—”

“Can you come back an’ stop Mom marrying Frank?” Jim’s up on his feet now – Leonard can _fix_ things – he can be a super-hero! Then his face falls when Leonard says quietly:

“Gram said I couldn’t change stuff. You can’t undo the past, she said. She’d tried, but stuff always happens the way it’s meant to. Anyways, I can’t choose where I jump to, even if I wanna come back.”

“But why can’t you teach me to fight? _Please_ …? Show me now, come _on_ —” Jim pulls at Leonard’s arm, wants to make him stand up but Bones doesn’t shift and Jim loses his balance and lands heavily on the grass…

Suddenly Jim yelps, leaps back up like he’s been yanked by the ear, and he’s jumping around, trying to escape the fire-brand in his hand.

“Ow, _ow_!” Jim shakes his hand like a snake trying to escape a sack. “I got stinged! Ouch! It hurts, it _hurts_!” He’s wedged his wrist under his armpit now, can’t stop the tears filling his eyes again; then he cups and examines his hand. It’s starting to go red and he can see the stinger. Breath short and angry, he crouches and scans the ground for the bee but he can’t see it anywhere.

“You’ll be fine, kid, don’t worry.” Leonard’s voice is soothing, kind, but he doesn’t come any closer. “We gotta take the stinger out or it’ll hurt more—“

Jim doesn’t know why, but he trusts Leonard, and he holds up a shaking hand so Leonard can pull out the sting. Leonard’s hands are much bigger than his and his fingers are long and cool. He knows Leonard’s noticed he’s crying and he can barely hear his own voice when he says, “I’m not a cry baby. It just hurts.”

“Nothing wrong with crying, Jim. I cry all the time and makes sense to cry when you’re hurtin’. Well, if I could bring stuff with me, I could’ve given you something from my daddy’s medkit.” Leonard ruffles Jim’s hair but Jim shrugs him off, wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

“I’m not a baby!” Jim pouts, indignant now. “Anyway, I’ll be okay. I’ve been hurt worse.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Leonard says, his voice gruff. “What happened to your face, kid? Did ya fall over?” His eyes are dark, like his frowny eyebrows.

Jim shakes his head but he isn’t going to tell him, he’s not telling _anyone_.

“Mom says bicarb’s the best for bee stings.”

“You remember stuff, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jim says, suddenly feeling lighter. “I never forget _anything_. I get the best scores in math, history, science…” Leonard’s smiling while he listens – doesn’t think Jim’s showing off. “And I know lots of poems -- you wanna hear?”

“Yeah, I’d like that, but first wanna do something for the bee sting? It gets worse the longer you leave it.”

“But you said you haven’t got any stuff.”

“Hey – I remember things too, Jim. My gram says the best thing for a bee sting is four kinds of grass. You think you can find four kinds of grass for me? Can’t hurt to try, can it?”

Jim jumps up and sprints off to search the grasses surrounding them. “You need the stems or the leaves…?” He calls over his shoulder.

“Stems’ll do.”

Jim’s back and he dumps an armful of grass on the ground in front of Leonard. Jim holds out a hand and Leonard crouches down, breaks open the stems, twists them up and smears them across the swollen knuckle leaving a pale, green stain. His hands are gentle – makes Jim feel safe. Jim takes a deep breath.

“I know _lots_. I know about the weather. I know the names of the grass, see,” Jim says, rattling off the names. “This one’s buffalo grass and this one’s—“

Leonard’s kind eyes fix on Jim’s face, hold his gaze and Jim gulps, wishes he could keep Bones (because that’s _totally_ Jim’s new secret name for Leonard now) keep him here to talk to and play with.

“I wanna come back, Jim. I just don’t know if I can. Sure looks like you could do with a friend.”

Jim stiffens, but doesn’t pull his hand away. “I got lotsa friends but…they’re lame. They don’t know anything and they get grounded ‘cause their moms say I’m bad, do stupid stuff. They’re not cool like you.”

Jim stops talking when Leonard stands up with a jolt, stumbles and doubles over, still hanging on to the towel. “Shit, I gotta…” he looks down at Jim, touches his shoulder lightly. Jim thinks Leonard might be sick or something, he’s rolling his head forward.

“I’m…damnit… I’m gonna go in a moment, so listen, listen good, okay?”

“Yeah, okay…” Jim’s trembling, doesn’t want his new, bestest friend to leave.

“I’ll try and come back, when I’m older, if I can figure out how to, and I’ll teach you how to fight …I prom...”

And Jim watches open mouthed as the towel drops to the ground and Bones is gone, like the Cheshire cat and, within seconds the space he’s filled is just late summer air again.

“ _Whoa_ …” Jim says and brings his sore hand up to his mouth to suck.

He waits a few minutes and picks up Bones’ towel, smells it, folds it reverently and pushes it into his rucksack. He looks around, hoping to see Bones again, missing his new friend already. He wishes he’d told Bones his name. He totally meant to, but he forgot and now Bones will never be able to find him.

 

+++

 

 _2257: San Francisco: Jim is 24, Leonard is 30_

Leonard  
Leonard sprints across the quad, relieved it’s still dark. He knows all the routes that avoid the security cameras, though with all the cut backs, he suspects most of them are dummies anyway. He’ll have to get Jim to hack into the system and find out for him – it’ll make this sort of shit, his fucking _routine_ , so much easier. Least he’s been able to hide some clothing in various locations around the academy, but it only works out half the time when Leonard comes back from a jump. He doesn’t always return to the exact location he’s time-travelled _from_ , but this time he’s been relatively lucky. He digs around in a grit container, locks it up again and slips into thrift shop sneakers and sweats and sprints back to their room.

This isn’t from running, he knows, rubbing his wet face with the palm of his hand. He takes a few calming breaths before punching in the code for their door. Leonard could run a marathon before he’d even begin to feel tired - this is fear. Fear that he might never have gotten this chance.

Leonard’s waited years for this moment, for this opportunity to go back to Jim, ever since Jim told him about what he’d been through.

Leonard’s jumped back, been with thirteen year old Jim for days, hidden out in the barn till Frank’s gone to work. He’s had time to teach Jim how to skin a rabbit, how to survive off berries, how to fix himself up with plants, how to survive his ordeal that Leonard’s known all along he couldn’t ever _prevent_ from happening; Jim was always gonna keep fighting with Frank, always going to total the Chevvy, always going to end up being sent to Tarsus to stay with his aunt. But Leonard did what he could – he’s made damned sure the kid’s got all he needs to survive, knows how to hide out. And Leonard’s made sure Jim doesn’t starve.

Now it’s done and everything’s as it should be. Jim _will_ make it, maybe he was always going to, but Leonard’s done what he can and made sure that it isn’t just dumb luck makes Jim survive Tarsus IV.

The chrono says 05:00, February 1st, 2257 – he’s only been away from the present for a few minutes though it’s ‘been’ days with Jim.

He undresses, throws his clothes to the foot of the bed. He steps over the pile of clothes, worn t-shirt and boxers he was sleeping in before he’d woken from a nightmare about Tarsus. Another dream, his mind tormenting him with imagined images of a young Jim running and hiding… then, seconds later, Leonard staggered to his feet and jumped out.

Now he’s home.

Jim presses back into Leonard when he slips into bed. “You’re all cold,” Jim mumbles, his voice rough from sleep. Leonard inhales his scent to ground himself, to be _here_. Jim reaches behind to take Leonard’s hand and wrap it round his chest. “Where you been?”

Leonard kisses him on the back of the head, pulls the covers up around them and says, “Nowhere special, I’m here now, Jim – with you. Go back to sleep. Tell you ‘bout it in the morning.”

[ ](http://photobucket.com)


	2. 2

**Part 2:**

 **Alice:  
I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle! **

_2253: Atlanta: Jim is 20, Leonard is 26_

Jim  
Jim’s been waiting for two hours.

It’s been a while since Jim’s been inside one of these places; Atlanta’s Medical Center is over-cool and even the seats giving off the faint, but all too familiar smell of disinfectant. Add to that the scent of puke, cop cars, piss-strewn alleys and there, Jim thinks wryly, you have a nice, olfactory tapestry representing the ‘tragedy’ of his youth.

By 03:00, he’s used up all the hard as shit crosswords on his comm, and the place is thinning out so, with a slight groan of pain, Jim swings his legs up onto the adjoining bucket seats, stretches as best he can, drapes his leather jacket over his chest, tucks in his arms, and tries to take a nap. But he drifts, the throbbing in his ribs making it hard to get comfortable. Still, the shortness of breath stopped pretty much when he walked through the door, but he’s too sleepy to consider leaving, plus he’s put in two hours of waiting, might as well stick around.

In screensaver mode, he’s looked up each time a doctor’s appeared but it’s never been his turn. So when he hears a drawled, “James T Kirk?” He squints open an eye, almost throws a muscle in his back when he crashes his feet to the floor with a jolt of recognition – shit it’s… _Bones_!

Rather than run to him, for a second, Jim can’t even nod, taken aback by Bones’ nonchalance. He’s behaving like Jim’s just another patient rolled in after a drunken brawl on a Saturday night – there’s no flicker of recognition on his face, no pleasure at seeing Jim again after all this time, no warmth, only tired, distant irritation. Bones doesn’t even make eye contact, just nods towards a side room.

At first he’s confused, that Bones should blank him – a moment later Jim works it out. Fuck, of _course_. Bones _wouldn’t_ recognize Jim –they haven’t ‘met’ before, not from Bones’ point of view.

This is a _younger_ version of Bones than the one Jim’s used to, the one who’s jumped back in time to him on countless occasions, taught him so much, been with Jim when it’s counted, _loved_ him.

And that first meeting in the meadow when Jim was a kid and Bones was fourteen - Older Bones maintains he just can’t recall a thing about that jump no matter how many times Jim’s been over the details with him. Older Bones says that he can’t always remember jumps, the memories falling away like dreams no matter how much he tries to cling to details once he returns to his present.

So _this_ Leonard McCoy hasn’t got a fucking clue who Jim is.

For Jim, on the other hand, shit – it’s been two years since Bones has jumped to him in any incarnation. Seeing Bones now, all rumpled and sexy as hell in a white coat, Jim wonders how it was possible to even breathe all this time without him.

Jim feels a prickle of worry and rejection then he pulls himself together, leaps to his feet, catches his jacket and bounces towards Bones who’s looking at him like he’s another miscreant rolled off the streets. Jim plays along, and somehow doesn’t wrap himself around Bones’ rangy form, leaves two paces between them and follows him into the side-room like an imprinted gosling.

Bones gestures tiredly to the bed and Jim climbs up, knee bouncing and throat tight with joy as he watches Bones pick up a PADD and call up his records. Jim waits while Bones scans them.

“There’s nothin’ here for six years? You been off planet, kid?”

Fuck, Bones looks beautiful. His hair’s longer, messy and not one streak of gray in it. He’s still got that mole above his eyebrow, the one he’ll remove in a couple of years, because it changes and Bones doesn’t wanted to take any risks with his health, not the way his gram developed skin cancer.

“Kirk?”

Jim snaps out of it. “Nope, just not needed any medical care, I guess.”

Bones glances at him from under raised eyebrows, but doesn’t prod. Jim squirms at the first eye-contact gifted him. _Get a grip._

“Asthma, eczema and … you’re allergic to pretty much everything…”

“Not bee stings,” Jim smirks, enjoying himself suddenly, and he has to hand it to Bones, the way he doesn’t falter despite the apparently random comment Jim’s just lobbed in there.

“And you’re allergic to every damned anti-biotic I got here. I’ll send for something won’t kill you, from the vaults, while I take a look at you.”

A grin splits Jim’s face. Damn, he’d better say something about their having met before soon, Jim thinks, but he’ll have to take it slow – he’s stoked but he doesn’t want to freak this Bones out. Jim’s just another patient to him.

Jim wonders how old Bones is, wondering what that long hair would feel like when he tugs on it – because he totally _will_. Damn, it’s been too long since they’ve touched and he’s not surprised when his cock sits up and begs in programmed response to that voice.

Jim flicks his tongue across dry lips and removes his shirt eagerly when Bones tells him to. He bides his time, eyes following every movement as Bones runs the tricorder over him.

“We’re a long ways from farmland here, kid. I see you’ve had plenty of breaks in your time, but how’d you get injured tonight?”

Jim shrugs. “Guess I should learn to shut my mouth around guys bigger than me. Not that there’s many of those, doc.” Jim waggles his eyebrows, smirks and allows his legs to flop open some more. Bones tsks at the innuendo and loads his hypo. “How d’you know about me growing up on a farm?”

Bones rolls his eyes. “I learned to read when I was knee high to a grasshopper,” he says, nodding at the PADD, putting it down on the bed then taking up the tricorder. He peers at the readings. “Comes in mighty handy with all these instruments they let me play with.” Deadpan, sarcastic, growly bastard, Jim thinks with intense longing and he holds his balled up shirt over his groin to hide his arousal.

“Nice bedside manner, _Bones_.” Jim waits for a reaction but nothing. Bones doesn’t seem to register, and while that makes sense, Jim can’t help wincing internally at the ‘rejection’.

“Breaks to the ulna, metatarsals…all before you were fourteen…” Bones mutters, frowns, glances at Jim then mercifully stops when Jim’s smile disappears.

“I was kind of an ‘active’ kid,” Jim mumbles, looking away from Bones for the first time in ten minutes. Older Bones knows all this shit, and Jim shouldn’t feel like it matters that this one is finding out too, still – it’s fucking weird is what it is.

For some minutes, Bones runs the regen over Jim’s ribs in silence and Jim half-closes his eyes, trying not to twitch at the gritty feeling under his skin as it repairs the damage. He suddenly feels sleepy from the pain-killers and the late hour, but forces his eyes to stay open.

He drinks in Bones’ scent, the coffee on his breath when he leans close, the faint smell of shampoo in his hair and Jim keeps his eyes on Bones’ face the whole time until seriously, he just can’t stand it any more, knows he’s gotta say something direct soon, before he fucking bursts with the need to touch Bones.

“So, good news – you’re lucky to have gotten away with severe contusions, fractured ribs and inter-costal strain. Nothin’ worse.”

“Lucky me,” Jim says drily, gripping his shirt in his lap. Damn, he’s gonna have to get down off the bed soon and he really doesn’t want to go.

“Stay out of fights, Kirk – next time you don’t duck you might not be so damned lucky and get a splenic rupture.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure and do that, Bones. Should I put my shirt on now?” He doesn’t move.

There’s a long moment when Bones stares at him, narrows his eyes and Jim wonders, hopes…

“Do I know you, kid?” Bones finally says, eyebrows one thick line when he frowns, those beautiful, hazel eyes drilling right through him.

 _Yes!_

“What makes you say that…Doctor…McCoy?” Jim makes a show of looking at Leonard’s badge, triumph heating his face.

“First, you seem kind of full of yourself, although something tells me that’s what you’re generally like, so probably doesn’t account for anything. And, second, you keep calling me Bones, which, if I pardon the sheer lack of originality, suggests that even someone who clearly doesn’t respect personal boundaries such as yourself—” Bones suddenly hypos Jim with no gentleness, “—suggests we’ve met before, kid.”

“Ouch! That fucking hurt!” Jim slaps his hand on his neck. Where the hell did he produce the hypo from? A holster? “Well, yeah, we _do_ know each other, seeing as you’re asking, but it’s been a while.” He huffs at the sting, rubs his skin.

Bones stands back, tosses the hypo on the trolley, folds his arms and looks Jim up and down.

Jim stares at his eyebrows, remembers what it was like to lick a stripe across them, remembers the feel of Bones’ tongue in his mouth… _fuck_.

Jim’s cock throbs and, once again, he feels this compulsion to wrap each limb around Bones, hold him tight, before he’s inevitably whisked away from him. Then he remembers, _this_ Bones won’t disappear. This is _his_ time; Jim’s not with Leonard McCoy from Jim’s future, but the ‘real’ one, the one from the present – for the first time ever.

But Bones, naturally, doesn’t seem to sense this is a momentous occasion. Yet.

“You mind your goddamn language, kid, or I’ll have your ass thrown out of here quicker than a horse takes a fuckin’ dump—“

Bones’ voice is a hiss, but Jim’s got his number. He’s not really mad; Jim can read him. Fuck, he’s known Bones nearly his whole life. Jim hopes the nurses who work with Bones see through the gruff; Jim learned quickly that most of the time it’s an act. Older Bones, _his_ Bones has explained that he needs to keep intense emotion at arm’s length, since stress is one of the triggers to the jumping – else he’d be tripping back and forth through time like a yo-yo.

Jim snorts. Hops off the bed, winces at the twinge in his ribs despite the pain killer and brings his face close to Bones’ tan, ‘angry’ one.

“I’d forgotten how sexy your voice is, with the southern…”

Bones cants his head back, makes room for Jim to put his shirt on, keeps his eyes level with Jim’s face.

“Hey, we’re in Atlanta, we all talk like this here,” Bones glowers.

Jim lets the comment go because, of course, Bones is right, but, Jesus, no one else’s voice in Atlanta could have this same affect on him. He fastens up his shirt very slowly, cocks his head, wonders if Bones notices the way he leaves one too many buttons undone. If he does, it doesn’t stop him grumbling. Jim stares at Bones’ plump lips and doesn’t bother to disguise his longing.

“So you gonna tell me how we know each other? And stop flirting with me - I’m not available.”

Fuck caution, fuck breaking the news to Bones gently…

“This ‘thing’ between you and me, it’s not about ‘available’,” Jim says, his voice trembling. _Shit, that was a little intense, maybe._

“What _thing_? What the hell are you talking about?” Bones shoots a look at Jim, then over his shoulder like he’s checking no one else is in the room when he damn well knows they’re alone.

The dam’s burst now – there’s nothing Jim can do, _wants_ to do, to hold the words from pouring out.

“Even when there are other people, there’s only us. You’re the one told me that when I was just a kid. You don’t remember ‘cause…” Jim scratches his eyebrow while he thinks how to put it. “…well, it hasn’t ‘happened’ yet, sorta… but _older_ you would never forget.” Now Jim has Bones’ undivided attention so he adds the sucker punch. “I know, Bones, I know about the time travelling, I _know_ …”

Jim watches how Bones gapes, frowns as he tries to process what he’s hearing but, it’s the words ‘time travelling’ that seem to hit Bones like a mallet. He glances over his shoulder again, grabs Jim’s arm roughly and hisses, “Shut the fuck up, shut up, okay?”

Of course, Bones doesn’t want to have people over-hear, right.

“Sorry,” Jim says, stepping back, realizing he hasn’t made a great ‘initial’ impression, lowers his voice. “I’m just so fucking happy to see you, it’s…shit, I’ve missed you so bad.”

“When’d’we meet?” Good. Bones is getting it. Only a handful of people are aware of his ‘affliction’ so the fact that Jim even knows about it shows that Bones, the one in the future, must have trusted him – that this Bones can trust him.

“First time? I was just a kid, you were a teenager…back in Iowa, and me and older you have talked about how you don’t remember it. Every other time it’s been you older, older than you are now, I mean.” Jim gulps, hangs onto to Bones’ slightly more relaxed body language; yeah, he’s still wary – makes sense – but looks like he believes him, confusing as it is.

Bones regards Jim with unblinking, dark eyes, his voice raspy when he says:

“Iowa…? Yeah…I don’t, I don’t always remember…And you’re saying we’re a, you know, a…” and Bones flicks a hand back and forth in the space between them frowning.

“Yeah, we are. _Will_ be, I mean.”

Jim watches Bones shake his head. He wants to grab him, say, I’m not gonna let you go again, but when he thinks of Bones trying to finish up his shift, after this big mind-fuck, he thinks better of laying anymore intense shit on him. So Jim fakes calm and says:

“Listen, we should meet. I’ll tell you everything then. What time do you finish? I could buy you breakfast.”

“What with? You look like you haven’t got two credits to your name!”

Ah, there’s that smile, the one that rips Jim’s heart open and, once again he holds back from what every cell in his body seems programmed to do, what he’s wanted and needed since he first set eyes on this crazy fuck, first as a friend and mentor, then more.

“You know something? I have. I have a trust fund – you helped me; I—” Jim starts to say.

“Stop! I don’t wanna— I _can’t_ know about stuff I haven’t done yet – it’s, it’s just too damned weird.”

Yeah, Jim thinks, you haven’t done it yet, but it’s happened already - to me – shit they have a lot to talk about.

“Okay, sorry, I forgot, I’m just so damned pleased to see you. I know this is heavy, and it’s wrong to know what’s gonna happen ahead of time, _you_ always told me that, man. You said it didn’t serve any purpose revealing what’s to come, since none of us can change anything, you said—”

“So stop, stop _telling me_ , Jesus…”

Bones runs a hand through collar length hair. God it looks good on him this length, Jim will have to make sure he can get Bones to keep it like this though he knows, whatever he says, it will make no difference since the Bones he’s met all the times before has always had short hair and now…Jim’s feeling kinda nauseous, must be the pain-killer, plus the fact that he hasn’t eaten for hours now, and he really should get home.

Bones notices, reaches for him and Jim makes a supreme effort to look like he’s fine though he wants nothing more than to feel that familiar warm touch. He forces a smile, shakes his head, and Bones’ hand drops to his side again.

“Okay, I guess we should talk, “Bones says. “Here’s my number. “

He takes Jim’s hand and scribbles on the back of it with a pen. Bones has told Jim he always carries an old style pen, says you never know when you’re stranded without anything else, need to leave a message. Jim’s stomach flips at the sensation of those warm fingers on his wrist burning into his skin with their _presence_.

“Now go home, Jim—“ Bones voice is a croak. Hearing Bones say his name, gives Jim the boost he needs to put one step in front of the other. “—sleep, give yourself time to heal.” Bones glances back at the nurse who’s just walked in the room and lowers his voice. “I really shouldn’t meet up with a patient, shit…but,” he leans closer, making Jim wonder if he actually _can_ go now, once he feels that puff of warm breath on his face; “comm me when you’re up and we can meet for breakfast, or a beer later or something – though you’re drinking pop, seeing as you’re under age.” Jim wants to bite that warning finger pointing at him.

“You fucking kidding me, man?”

He picks up his jacket and sways slightly before he takes a step towards the door.

“So what happened to ‘Bones’?” And that twitch at the corner of his mouth – that’s a grin Bones is fighting, Jim just knows it.

“Bones was a lot more fun than you, doc,” Jim laughs, zipping up his jacket.

He takes another look at Leonard McCoy, running his eyes up and down that familiar, lanky form, kind of enjoying how Bones glares at him for it. “But I _will_ comm you in the morning, yeah – can’t wait.” Jim glances at the number scrawled on his hand, shoots a look at the nurse, then sighs when he sees Bones’ irritated expression. “Later…”

 _The door swishes open and Jim can’t resist turning, looking over his shoulder. He licks his lips._

 _“One more thing, what do you know about four kinds of grass, Bones?”_

 _Bones’ face is a picture now, mouth a large ‘o’ in reaction to something Jim knows his Gram used to say, that maybe Bones has never shared with anyone else. Yeah, there’s no way he won’t meet Jim now._

 _The last thing Jim hears as he drags himself away is Bones muttering, “Dammit, kid…”_

 _About time._

 __

+++

 _Leonard  
Jim’s comm message comes through at 05:00. Leonard rolls his eyes – he won’t even come off shift until 08:00 but, technically, yeah, it _is_ the morning - Jesus this kid’s pushy._

 _Moe’s on Highlands. 16:00. Drinks on you._

Peachy. Well, since it’s only gonna be the one drink, why not?

Leonard knocks back his cold, replicated coffee, tosses his comm back in his locker, and heads back to the frontline.

It’s been a long night and he’s barely had a free moment in his head to properly dissect the implications of all this. One thing Leonard’s decided is, much as he’d like to say he recognizes Jim Kirk on some level, he truly doesn’t.

The most bewildering thing of all to Leonard is how in twenty-six years of life, in all those times he’s been visited by an older version of himself, he’s never once mentioned Jim Kirk. And in a way, this is what makes him reply to the comm, agree to meet Jim. If Older Leonard’s not mentioned Jim, the kid _must_ be of significance. Older Leonard’s never let slip anything important about the future, keeping all the ‘good’ stuff under his hat. And it’s even weirder that he should have jumped back to someone multiple times, someone he doesn’t ‘know’. While Leonard’s got no idea why he jumps to any time in the past, he’s always looking for patterns, and while he’s got no control, can’t choose where to go, it’s generally to someone who has significance in his life. So why Jim Kirk?

It would be damned nice for this to be evidence that Leonard’s long held, romantic notions have some basis in reality, that somewhere there’s a soul mate for everyone, but nothing he’s seen of this kid so far can support that. Still, he needs to understand how this cocky kid fits into his life.

And the comment about the grass has been tormenting Leonard off and on for hours. It’s like trying to clutch onto a fragment of a dream or something but the more he ‘looks’, the more understanding slips away – shit, this doesn’t make any kind of sense.

His gram, she used it as a remedy for bee stings, said it soothed the pain away and used it on Leonard once or twice; now, of course, he realizes it was the rubbing itself made a kid feel better, serving as a distraction from the pain, releasing endorphins into the blood stream. Even so, why did Jim mention it at all?

Later, when he’s finally finished his handover to the new shift, thoughts of Jim sitting on the bio-bed, making eyes at him, looking happier than a tick on a fat dog, crowd back.

On the hover-tram home, Leonard replays every moment at leisure, recalls how Jim kept up the sassy attitude, yet let it slip for a second when Leonard mentioned the childhood history, specifically the multiple breaks. For all his ballsy posturing, this kid’s got a lot to hide and Leonard sensed immediately that getting anything more out of him, other than what was in the records, would have been like pulling teeth. Leonard took it all in though, how everything on record related to before Jim was fourteen, how there was nothing on Jim Kirk in the past six years, not even updated dental records despite his shiny, even teeth. Maybe his family went off planet for a while. Even so, there’s been plenty of time for the records to be updated – it doesn’t make sense.

And how the hell did Jim develop all those food allergies in this day and age? Jim shrugged off the eczema Leonard noticed when running the machine over the grazes and contusions on Jim’s knuckles, said sometimes he just _had_ to have a bit of ketchup with his fries.

And Leonard admits he’s a little surprised at how off-hand Jim had been about being in a fight, so blasé about being beaten on. This would indicate he must’ve been involved in more than his fair share of brawls; but in that case, why was there no record of Jim being in an ER in years? And last night, when he hadn’t been so badly injured, why did Jim choose to check himself in? Not for the first time, Leonard contemplates the weird twisted path of his life and the vague notion that another hand is playing a role in his fate, though it goes against everything he wants to believe about free will, cause and effect.

Leonard remembers the link to the psychological profile on Jim’s history, how he didn’t have clearance to access it. Curiouser and curiouser.

Leonard crashes in bed, sets the chrono for five hours later – he’s going to need something like a full quota of sleep if he’s gonna deal with this little dervish and hell, he can always take a nap later. He’s not due back at work till he starts day shift in forty-eight hours. There’s plenty of time.

 

+++

 

Jim  
Jim can’t sleep he’s so fucking wired.

Bones. “Bones…” he says out loud, hugging himself.

He jerks off twice in the hour after he leaves the hospital, thinking about those beautiful hands on him again, after _two whole years_. He’d almost given up hope, thought he’d never see Bones, although it’s not what he’s been told in all the time they’ve spent together since he was a kid, but when Bones didn’t come back, and one month rolled into another, he’d begun to despair – life without Bones was just wrong. But Older Bones _warned_ Jim, said there would be at least two occasions when they’d not see each other for years; while refusing to say exactly how long, he said Jim should get on with his life, pretend Bones didn’t exist, not wait, not change what he did. Make his own plans, his own way.

Jim moved to Georgia after eighteen months had passed, looked Leonard McCoy up on the nets, knew he was employed by the Atlanta Metropolitan Health Authority; Bones could be anywhere in the city but he resisted searching further because it went against ‘the rules’.

Bones always said that things _will_ happen, will fall into place and they’d meet again when the time was right. So that’s why Jim found himself in the med centre, even though usually he’d avoid medical treatment like the plague ‘cept when it’s Bones. He vowed to have nothing more to do with doctors when he ‘came back’ from off planet…and Jim shakes that memory away, of the countless intrusions, tests, the scrutiny, real quick… but his ribs really hurt after that fight, and he couldn’t breathe properly and that’s never happened before. See? It was meant; Bones was right – things happen when the times right, Jim tells himself.

So now Jim’s working at a mechanic’s a couple of days a week, rest of the time hustling in pool halls for cash. He only touches the trust fund for rent, nothing else, because that’s what Jim decided he’d do, much as Bones tried to persuade him to use the money to get back into school.

Jim manages to doze off for a while and almost leaps out of bed when he hears the comm buzz. It’s ten after eight – Bones must’ve just come off shift.

 _Okay_

That it? Laconic bastard.

Jim’s pretty sure Bones read the comm a couple of hours ago, only answering now, playing hard to get; he’s the master of that, Jim thinks, remembering the months before their first time, how Bones had held out and held out until – shit, now Jim’s hard again and he jerks off in a hurry, thinking about how gentle Bones had been two years ago, even when Jim pleaded, “harder please, Bones, fuck, _harder_. I won’t break.”

“Yeah, but I might, kid.”

Fuck.

 

+++

 

Leonard  
14:10 and Leonard’s in the shower. He’s not taking as much care as he would for a date, because, hell – this isn’t a date. They’re just going to talk. Yet despite needing to know what the hell this is all about, he’s uncomfortable as hell seeing a patient, and while Jim’s not technically his patient anymore, still…

He needs to get his head around this ‘thing’. Needs to know how this kid fits into his life. Way Jim Kirk was talking, sounds like they’ll be more than friends. He remembers how Jim looked at him, flirted dammit – they must have had/will _have_ (fuck this is some crazy shit) a sexual relationship.

It’s been months since Leonard’s had sex – sure, Leonard’s had offers but he’s still smarting from Jocelyn, still not sure about what he wants and one thing Leonard’s learned in the past twenty-six years is, if he thinks with his heart (cock?), he’s not thinking at all. He’s managed to make enough relationship mistakes in that time that he’ll fight shy of the prospect of hooking up with anyone new, let alone a someone so young, let alone a _guy_ , for fuck’s sake.

Leonard stands in front of the bathroom mirror, dripping water all over the floor. Fuck it, he can do as he pleases - Joss isn’t here to bitch him out.

He examines his reflection, wonders what Jim saw when he was gazing so goddamned adoringly at him. People say Leonard’s attractive though he’s not sure he sees it himself. Face is too much like a girl’s he thinks, like a girl with a really unfortunate facial hair problem. He applies beard-suppressor to his jaw with a sigh – this shit doesn’t work; he’ll be Stubble Man within a couple of hours and Jim’ll think he hasn’t made an effort. Wait. Effort? What the fuck, this _isn’t_ a date. He tweezes out an errant eyebrow that’s appeared between his brows overnight – all the advances in science, and many he’ll hopefully be responsible for in the future, and he still looks like a wolf.

Leonard peers at his eyes, tugs at the dark skin under them. He looks old before his time, but, whatever, after what he’s been through it’s not so strange, but yeah, he could be in his mid thirties rather than mid twenties. Jim said Leonard was fourteen the first time they met, and he wonders what the hell brought them together, hates that he can’t remember a thing about it. Maybe it was one of those times he jumped in his sleep…those times he jumps _back_ awake enough but can’t remember a damned thing about where he’s been.

Was it mere chance that he should have found Jim the first time, or was Leonard on one of his futile ‘fix the future’ campaigns? Lord knows there’ve been enough of those. Waste of fucking time.

Jim said it was Iowa. Leonard did go through a period in his late teens when he jumped to Iowa a few times… didn’t make sense…but then, Leonard’s almost given up looking for a pattern, a purpose. Once he ended up at Riverside shipyard – that was hairy – got chased by fucking dogs inside a perimeter fence, one bit his ankle and he jumped out before they could tear him apart, but that’s his strongest memory of Iowa – nothing that even could have been a time he met Jim. He’ll quiz Jim later - probe for details, maybe something will come back to him.

Looking at his eyes, the sludge colored irises, the red rims, leads Leonard to think about the clearness of Jim’s. He can’t shake off the way Jim had looked at him, all wide-eyed and trusting, gabbling, so fucking excited to see him. Leonard shakes his head. They were blue like the sky, reminded him of his Gram – she was the only one in the family without the trademark McCoy hazel irises. She used to joke it was ‘cause she was a witch, so she said when Leonard was a kid and she applied one of her potions to him, rubbing his temple, whispering strange words under her breath to ‘cure’ a bruise or grazed knee.

And Jim unsettled Leonard – ‘cause despite the honesty in Jim’s body-language (yeah, Leonard wasn’t fooled by the kid ‘holding back’ could see him clenching his hands, his knee bouncing, the way his gaze followed Leonard’s every movement) despite the ‘openness’, those baby-blues were impenetrable – he was saying something Leonard couldn’t understand.

Leonard shakes his head, falls back onto the bed naked and contemplates his strange fucking life, which, looks like it was gonna take an even stranger turn in a few hours time and, as ever, he’s powerless to do anything about it.

 

+++

 

Jim  
15:50 - Jim’s been sitting at the bar over half an hour now. He picked Moe’s ‘cause, although Bones’ll bitch about how it’s ‘tryin’ to be traditional’, in fact it’s just about the only kind of place he’ll tolerate; not too fancy, just beer and pool and bar snacks. Plus there are plenty of dark booths Jim thinks with another surge of lust.

He’s arrived early so he can knock back a couple of shots before Bones turns up and has a chance to lecture him about underage drinking. Again. They’ve been through this before; how Bones isn’t Jim’s dad, shouldn’t act like he is and yeah, things have changed since Jim came back from Tarsus, when Jim managed to get the message through that maybe he’s proven he can look after himself and, “ _I’ve done fine all these years without some guy telling me how to run my life, alright—?_ ”

But _this_ Bones doesn’t know about anything, doesn’t know about Jim’s history. Jim considers this, plays with the idea that he can start afresh here, if he wants, cover up his delinquency, his promiscuity, his dead-end attitude, his no future, fucked up existence but, _but_ … shit - one thing’s always been true: Bones and him? It’s always been about honesty – neither has ever lied to the other. Sure, Bones hasn’t told him about what’s going to happen – he always said that he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ do that and that it’s enough Bones says, _he_ has to bear the weight of his ‘impairment’ as he calls it, without adding that to Jim’s life. If people know what’s going to happen to them, it fucks them up.

Yeah, Jim owes it to Bones to just be himself. Bones will find it hard to take in, but Jim knows, a few hours together, when he tells Bones about the times they’ve shared, Bones will get it. _Get them_.

Holy shit - _Bones_. He’s got him back.

 

+++

 

Leonard  
16:15 -“Should’ve brushed your teeth, kid,” Leonard says once they’re sitting on the beat up leather stools and Jim’s pulling faces after his first sip of cola. “You’ve been drinking -- how’d you get served anyway?”

They look at the waitress ogling the pair of them, and exchange looks. Leonard knows Jim doesn’t need to explain. This kid could charm the panties off a nun, probably has and then some. But Leonard’s no nun so when Jim says:

“Can’t I just have a shot of whiskey, brighten my drink up?”

Leonard glowers, says, “Not on my watch,” and shoots Jim his patented ‘that’s the end of this discussion’ look, as Joss always called it.

Jim pouts and suddenly looks his age despite his bravura and swagger. Leonard thinks about how Jim’s only just turned twenty and feels a cold trickle of panic across his shoulders. What the hell does all this mean? Well, he’ll soon find out way this kid can’t shut up talking for more than a second. He almost considers slipping Jim a tranquilizer.

 

+++

 

“So, how many times have we met before?”

Jim shrugs. “Dunno, never counted – dozens maybe?”

That many? Holy hell – he’d thought it might have been a handful of times, sure, but dozens… He hasn’t offered any details and Leonard wants to probe, wants to know when, how, why, but how can he when it’s all gonna happen anyway, when knowing just makes everything…

Leonard leans over, suddenly conscious that he’s had one too many. Since the jumping is often triggered by high stress, heavy drinking is one of the few ways Leonard can keep calm in company. Or the elixir his Gram taught him how to make, which they both dubbed the ‘Drink Me’, inspired by Alice in Wonderland which Gram used to read him when he was small. Alcohol and the elixir keep him calm, fix him in the present. Leonard doesn’t always take the Drink Me ‘cause it makes him impotent, makes him cranky, brings on wild dreams on those occasions when he’s dumb enough to drink alcohol with it too.

And, because of the impotence, when he was trying to make a baby, the Drink Me wasn’t conducive to a happy marriage. Then, when Leonard kept time-travelling ‘cause he was so stressed, it was hello Jim Beam, goodbye elixir for a while.

Regular tranquillizers are a nightmare, give him stomach problems, make him too woozy to work, so he avoids them except under extreme circumstances.

Nothing works one hundred percent – Leonard’s only hope is that he can develop a cure in time, something without side-effects. Fuck knows he can’t go on like this much longer.

He’s tried to get information out of his future self enough times, find out if he’s ever cured of his impairment, but the tight-lipped bastard, his Older Self, refuses to give Leonard anything. The most he’s got to hang onto is the miniscule hope that he’ll work something out one day, maybe.

He remembers how he smashed his fist repeatedly into Older Leonard’s face that time, when Older Leonard came back too late in a futile attempt to try and stop his younger self turning off his daddy’s life support. It was a few months later Leonard understood the implications, when he discovered someone had found a cure for pyrrhoneuritis and Older Leonard could have done something, said something, given him that knowledge that would have stopped him killing his, _their_ daddy.

He knows he can’t change the past, yet he keeps trying, like a dumb fly throwing itself against a window over and over.

“Tell me, you fuckin’ bastard, tell me the traveling ends one day,” he’d railed, slamming Older Leonard against the wall again, hot tears falling down both their cheeks, his counterpart bearing a bloodied mouth.

“Jus’ fucking _stop_ , asshole. You know, we can’t change anythin’. Stop.”

Leonard released Older Leonard. “I can’t fucking stand this. There must be some way we can lick this thing. Tell me you’re getting somewhere in your time. I’m fucking begging.”

“Alright…” Older Leonard whispered, “I’ve got a lead, okay. Now go fucking cry for daddy, not yourself – we aren’t worth it.”

And the worst thing? Even though Leonard knows he won’t be able to save his daddy, how the fact that he dies at his son’s hand will always stay in the past, and it can’t be changed. Even so, in years to come, he’ll _still_ jump back, try and intervene, despite inevitable failure. Christ Leonard knows that, knows because he’s seen his future self fail. But he’s gotta try, just like he kept trying to save his cousin David from drowning in the boating accident. He leans his face on his hands and reaches for his glass.

He’s trapped, cursed…Fuck, fuck…

“Bones?”

“Yeah?” Leonard clears his throat, sniffs, and knocks back the next shot.

“Your mind wandering?”

“Yeah, sorry…”

And when the hell did Jim end up sitting so close to him? They’re in a booth, at the back of the bar; they played some pool and Jim beat him every time. Maybe Leonard shouldn’t have said not to hold back on his account – but the kid’s a multi-tasker, that’s for sure. Able to talk incessantly, clear the table, and make eyes _constantly_ at Leonard.

Leonard closes his eyes and opens them again when the image of Older Leonard’s compassionate eyes come back to haunt him.

Leonard’s way beyond buzzed now. Jim’s leg is bouncing against his, an elbow’s pressed against him and shit, now he allows himself to look at Jim, properly, trying to see a person, not a piece of history, or some landmark in his dumb life. Fuck, those are pretty lips and – holy hell, Jim’s rubbing up against him like some tom cat and that tongue… “Jim, I…this isn’t such a good idea.” He unwinds Jim’s arms that have suddenly clung to his neck.

Jim takes the rebuttal with a smile. His eyelids are drooping, he’s panting slightly and he leans in again, right up to his ear. “Don’tcha want me, Bones? We need to make up for lost time…”

Fuck yeah, he does, he really does and, if there’s one thing Leonard’s learned is sometimes you gotta live in the moment, and he needs this, needs to feel present, wants this warmth, this kid - so he grabs the back of Jim’s head, pulls him in for a bruising kiss, and just like that, there’s nothing to talk about other than how the hell they’re gonna get back to his place quick enough.

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	3. 3

**Part 3**

 **"Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar.  
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." **

_2253: Atlanta: Jim is 20, Leonard is 26_

Leonard   
18:15 - They take a hovercab to Leonard’s one-roomed apartment. Jim said, “Not my place, it’s a shit-hole,” and Leonard didn’t argue, he was too drunk, too confused and frankly, he hoped he’d feel more grounded, more in control, in his own environment.

He’s kind of glad he only took a small dose of the elixir before he left the apartment ‘cause now, he wouldn’t be able to get it up; it’s ironic; it’s the only natural thing Leonard can usually count on to keep him in the present – sex, but then the Drink Me prevents the sex—his life’s one big circle of irritation.

They make out in the cab, Jim’s pressing up between Leonard’s thighs, kneeling on the floor, moaning shamelessly and he doesn’t seem to give a shit if the driver can hear or not. After some minutes with Jim’s eager mouth on his cock, Leonard finds he doesn’t care either.

Jim’s behind him, chin on his shoulder, arms wrapped round Leonard’s waist while he hands the driver his credit chip, long fingers edging down his waistband, “Cut it out, you animal,” Leonard laughs. He feels lighter than he has in god knows how long. They stumble like this from the cab to the doorway and Jim watches over his shoulder while Leonard keys in his code.

“Want me to change that for you, Bones, I mean any moron could work that out, break in—“

“What, and steal my shit? They’re welcome to it - I got nothing,” Leonard growls before plastering the boy’s face with rough kisses again.

Jesus, something about this kid’s driving him crazy with lust – maybe it’s just being wanted so bad, he’s not used to this. Truth is, people are kind of wary of him; they’re put off by his brusque manner, his full-on honesty, his glower, and since the split with Joss, well, he’s not slept with anyone else. And he’s never been touched with such longing. This kid, he’s just so fucking clean in his want, so unable to hold back, it’s intoxicating.

Jim slaps Leonard’s ass as they walk through the door and then they’re up against the wall, kissing furiously again, and Leonard’s pulling down Jim’s leather jacket, so he can have access to his throat, dragging his teeth along the muscled neck, his Adam’s apple, sniffing out his scent.

“You gonna bite me, Bones, I like it when you bite me,” Jim pants hotly against his ear, throwing his head back, exposing his throat, like he’s the beta dog.

Leonard narrows his eyes, pulls back, and examines that line free face, the hooded eyes, vibrant blue through dark, long lashes, Jim’s tongue sweeping across plump, pink lips. Leonard’s cock’s screaming for more attention and he wonders what demon he’s got before him, leading him astray like this. Then he tells himself, as he drags Jim behind him to the bedroom, this’ll burn out in a few hours. They’re both drunk on the moment, in the cold light of morning, the kid’ll be on his way, Leonard will be alone again and can get on with his solitary, empty life.

But, now they’re here, standing by Leonard’s unmade bed, not having bothered with coffee, or music, or any other preamble or bullshit – Leonard realizes that the voice in his head, imagining this ending, is just his negative bullshit, just fear after what’s happened with Joss and that this beautiful kid’s right, this is about them and it feels like a beginning…

They’re an arm’s length apart and Jim’s staring at him, like Leonard’s some kind of vision or something. Jim holds up a hand, the phone number still branded to it. “Stay right there,” he says and he removes his jacket, drops it to the floor, pulls his t over his head.

He sighs at the beauty of Jim’s creamy skin, the dark nipples, and the shot of hair under his arms. He runs his eyes over the bruising on Jim’s side, which is blooming nicely now and wonders why he didn’t ask how Jim felt in the bar earlier, then he reins his mind in, and just watches, enjoys, with his hands hanging foolishly by his sides as Jim continues to strip, unashamed, at ease with his beauty.

Jim kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his low slung jeans and Leonard’s not surprised he’s commando, watches in something like fear when Jim’s cock springs free. Not because it’s too large, but just that now this is real. This crazy kid’s been literally stuck to Leonard’s side all evening. Even in the bar, when he went to the john, Jim glanced nervously over his shoulder, like he was scared Leonard would disappear or something. It’s just so fucking intense.

Jim’s jeans drop to the floor and the boy steps out of them, licks his lips again, never once taking his eyes off Leonard.

“You know every inch of me,” Jim says, moving closer. “This,” and he indicates the full length of his body, “this,” and he taps his head, “this,” he brings his hand to his chest, “and,” he’s a hair’s breadth away now, so Leonard can feel Jim’s breath on his face, can smell the milky scent of his skin, can see the fine sheen of sweat on Jim’s chest, when Jim takes Leonard’s hand and guides it to his cock, squeezing Leonard’s fingers tight around it, “this,” he says, pulling Leonard by the hair with his free hand so their mouths are joined, tongues finding their rhythm easily.

Leonard’s flushed, horribly turned on by the fact Jim’s naked while he’s dressed; that other than his hand moving slowly up and down Jim’s hot length, he remains entirely still while Jim undresses him. First Leonard’s jacket, easing the arms down; it hangs on one side, trapped on Leonard’s wrist where he’s holding onto Jim’s cock. Jim slowly unbuttons Leonard’s shirt, heated eyes flicking up to catch his gaze. Rough fingers slide under the cotton, circle his back. He leans in to take one of Leonard’s nipples between his teeth, then the other. Leonard shudders at the twitch of pleasure pain.

“Now for the best part, “Jim smirks, unbuckling Leonard’s belt, pulling it free in one easy movement; it clunks to the wooden floor and Leonard squeezes Jim’s cock hard when a hand slips down the front of his waistband, without unbuttoning the fly, blue eyes holding his, watching for a reaction. “Hmm…what do we have here?”

Leonard wants to say something like, _evidence of how I’ve got no damned sense at all_ , but he’s not able to formulate words in the right order.

Jim folds to his knees, so Leonard’s forced to let go of his cock. Leonard shrugs and the shirt and jacket slide to his feet, so fucking grateful Jim’s finally undoing the buttons on his fly. He looks up at Leonard with misty eyes, lips parted, while dragging his jeans and briefs down to mid-thigh. Jim slides his hands down the pants’ leg, like he’s relishing that he gets to decide how much flesh to expose. Then, just as Leonard’s about to say something snarky, something about how smug the kid looks, his cock’s engulfed by hot wetness. Leonard moans, almost loses his balance, tries to get a hold of Jim’s hair, but it’s too short so he spreads his legs instead, restricted by his jeans, curses, then just gives up bitching because, this, _this_ \- has absolutely no negative points to it at all.

“Fuck, kid,” he chokes out, “you’re killing me here.”

There’s a rumble of laughter around his cock and Jim takes a break to say, “Oh, I’m hoping not, Bones!”

“You gonna tell me where that stupid name comes from?” Leonard harshes out, guiding his cock back into Jim’s mouth, realizing this isn’t going to get him any answers. _Later_ , he thinks, letting out a noisy moan, they’ll talk about it later, though he’d bet it’s got nothing to do with the old sawbones cliché.

Jim tongues the tip, twists his hand a little roughly and Leonard grabs his wrist.

“Hol’ your horses there – we’ve got all night, and there’s a perfectly comfortable bed right here.”

He takes the window of opportunity when Jim lets go a second to kick away his underwear and jeans from round his ankles, hitches Jim under the arms and shoves him onto the bed. Jim squawks melodramatically, grin wide, perfect teeth gleaming in the unlit room.

He sits up to grab Leonard’s hips, drags him on top and proceeds to kiss him like his life depends on it, sucking his tongue like he needs mother’s milk, moaning shamelessly. He tastes fresh and vibrant, beer (yeah, Jim absolutely stole some of his when he went to the bathroom) and nuts and warmth and the tang of Leonard’s pre-come. It’s fucking intoxicating and scary as hell and he can’t get enough, groaning at each stab and pull of Jim’s sweet lips and tongue.

“It’s like you hid from me, you didn’t want me to find you,” Jim pants, eyes burning Leonard’s. “I’ve seen you in my past so many times; I was allowed to see you from the future, but not now, not the present, not _your_ present.

Leonard isn’t sure what to say to this so he cups Jim’s face and kisses him softly, aware of how he’s shaking under him.

“Listen kid, I’m not goin’ anywhere, relax, ‘k?” He rubs his thumb across the space between Jim’s eyebrows, eases away the crease and kisses him again. Jesus, the way this kid feels under him, he’d jump right back here, he’d be crazy not to.

When they break for air, chests heaving, Jim gazes up at him, face serious, then he appears to shrug off his gloom, and rolls Leonard off him, onto his back, parts his legs, lifts them over his shoulders and buries a long tongue between Leonard’s ass cheeks with no pre-amble. It’s fucking unbelievable; the sensations ripple up his back, charging his cock with an urgency that overwhelms him. Yet he doesn’t touch it, daren’t yet – he’d last about a second.

“Jesus kid, where’d you get these ideas? You’re so young.”

“Have you even _met_ me?” Jim grins at the line, because of course he hasn’t, until now; unlike his older self, the lucky, fucking bastard. Jim takes a breath then his tongue’s back laving at Leonard’s hole and he’s talking again. “Anyway _you_ taught me,” comes the muffled, smart-ass comment as he continues to break Leonard down with another heated assault.

And Leonard’s not sure whether he should be proud of himself or disgusted. Fuck, he hopes the kid was eighteen at the time. Then his mind’s in a whirl of, _he must have been because this is me **before** that and in any incarnation I would never have sex with someone under age_ , and the fact that he’s even thinking this, he’ll remember, won’t he, when his future self, meets up with Jim in the past. But, hell, _stop fucking thinking so much_ ; that tongue, what it’s doing to him, _Jesus_ …

Leonard cranes his neck, when Jim stops, sees him sitting back on his heels then feels sure fingers spread his cheeks wide, eyes molten, on his face, watching for his reactions. Leonard tries to rein in the sounds escaping him but, hell he’s never felt so totally exposed — and he can’t imagine Jim’s not fucked anyone else for two years, no matter how or what he feels for Leonard.

An unfamiliar knot begins to form in his gut which Leonard dimly recognizes as possessiveness, then shrugs off immediately as drunkardness. What the fuck? Who’s he to care who this kid fucks and who he doesn’t?

He whimpers when Jim then says with a low, growly voice, “I’m going to slide a finger in your butt, okay? I know you love this, but I thought I’d better warn you in case you’ve never—“

 _Jesus, don’t fucking stop…so good…_ Then out loud, with no real heat in his voice: “I wish you’d stop telling me what I like, before I…fuck… even know I like it for myself.”

“Welcome to my world, Bones.”

“And why the hell do you keep calling me that?”

“You just said you didn’t want to know.”

Leonard extends an arm awkwardly, tries to cuff the brat upside the head, but falls back onto the pillow when Jim moves to avoid his hand with a grin.

“Now that’s unfair, I’m only doing what you said,” Jim mumbles, working his finger in gently, turning and crooking it so Leonard’s pushing up and forwards onto his fingers; nearly shouts and bites his lip when Jim finds his prostate. Jim raises a triumphant eyebrow.

“Ung…damn, how do I get the feeling that that, in itself is…fuck… a pretty rare state of affairs?” There’s another finger – Christ this kid knows how to string him out; Leonard’s burning with lust, needs to fuck Jim so bad he’s worried if he doesn’t soon, the stress of not burying himself deep into that ass is going to make him jump.

“I may not always do what you ask me to, Bones, but I always do what you _want_ ,” Jim says, easing his fingers out, encouraging him to sit back against the headboard. Leonard tries to protest but Jim straddles him, nudging his cock up close to Leonard’s. He shuts Jim up with a greedy tongue, licking up his jaw, hands either side of his cheekbones, licking the tip of his nose and dropping in for another kiss.

“You know what’s so awesome, Bones?” Jim asks between kisses.

“Nope, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“I can’t believe that one of the amazing things about this weirdness, about _us_ , is that I get to have _two_ first times. Though you only get the one!”

Leonard closes his eyes, tries to process this complex thought but seriously, he just can’t at the moment, not the way his blood’s pooled in his groin, the way that unbridled, intense gaze is opening him up too. So he just moans at the kid’s touch as he jacks them both gently, cocks flush against each other, voice washing over him, powering though his veins.

“Are you ready to fuck me yet?” Jim whispers close to his ear.

God, _yeah_.

Leonard nods stupidly, his mouth falling open in awe.

“Unless, of course, you think you might be taking advantage of me?” Jim says, a smirk on his face; then adds brightly, “You got any lube?”

“Well, no, why the hell would I have lube? Oh, right, for all the other times I bring whippersnappers back here to—”

“It’s a good thing I think of everything,” Jim chuckles and leaves Leonard on the bed while he fetches his duffle bag, leaving him to drink in the sight of Jim’s pale ass as he bounces to the door where he left it.

Jim sits on the edge of the bed, cups Leonard’s balls with one hand making him squirm, while upending his bag and shaking the contents out all over the mat with the other. “Here!” and he drops a small tube onto Leonard’s stomach.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Are you sure you’re a doctor? You seem to be a little confused about anatomy.” Jim licks his lips and winks at him. Brat. “Or you just never fucked a guy before?” Yeah, well there is that…

The sarcastic bastard takes the tube and squirts a generous amount in his palm, “But I’ll talk you through.” He smirks, contemplating Leonard’s no doubt shit-eating expression; “I can’t deny it, it’s turning me on, being the ‘experienced’ one, the one who knows what to do.” He leans in for a quick kiss, then, “Okay… first,” Jim says, circling the base of Leonard’s cock with slick fingers, “you squirt the lube on, then you coat your cock, it usually takes longer if it’s me, ‘cause I’m better endowed,” he winks at Leonard, “and then you—”

He twists his hand, slathering Leonard’s cock, base to tip and back. Leonard doesn’t even bother trying to stifle the moan this elicits from him.

Jim climbs onto the bed, straddles Leonard’s thighs with his back to him, and raises up on his knees. “Now for the best part,” he says, over his shoulder. He twists and takes Leonard’s hand off his hip and squirts some lube onto his fingers, “and from this angle it’s easier if _you_ do it, plus, fuck — you’re so good at this part .” He guides Leonard’s fingers to his ass. “Push one finger in slowly and right up to the second knuckle…”

“Hey, I’ve done more prostate exams than you’ve had—” the cheeky little…

“Not the same, Bones, this is supposed to feel good. Now do it slow.”

“Slowly, ‘cause I don’t want to hurt you?”

Jim kneels up so his ass is in direct line with Leonard’s fingers and says, with the dirtiest voice Leonard’s ever heard, so help him: “No, slowly ‘cause you’re a fucking tease and it makes me whimper.”

“God, you’re shameless,” Leonard’s eyes rake over perfect, pale skin and Jim’s puckered entrance – he’s never thought of this part of a man or woman as inviting, or attractive before, but fuck, he’s learning fast.

Leonard’s panting, as he works his finger in, eyes transfixed as it’s enveloped. “Fuck you’re…,” he says roughly, “like this?” He watches hungrily as his finger disappears into the tight heat and Jim rocks back until it’s buried, gasping, arms braced by Leonard’s knees.

“I…okay, now another finger — use more lube if you need it.” Leonard shifts so he’s half lying on his side and kisses Jim’s ass cheeks, and Jim groans when two fingers fill him.

Jim reaches round and guides Leonard’s wrist, demonstrating the pace he likes, long, slow strokes. “Now, crook your fingers, yeah. Like that. Fuck. _Fuck_ that’s so good, Bones, fuck I missed you, it’s been so long, I thought…”

“Shush Jim, this is too intense — we’ll talk about all that later, k?” The bed moves under them when Jim nods.

“Now turn your fingers a little — _stretch_ me Bones.” Leonard’s eyes scour Jim’s sinewy back, the bump of his spine, one hand stroking his sides.

He’s never touched a man like this before; it’s always been softness and gentleness and fuck, he loves women, he really does but this is amazing is what it is, he thinks as Jim’s stubble rubs across his calves and ankles where he’s being kissed, at the same time as Jim reaches round and crawls calloused fingers, short nails across Leonard’s neck and scalp as he finger fucks him.

It feels right, so fucking right.

Jim  
Jim’s face is resting on his hands and he presses back against Leonard’s fingers, the burn, so fucking good, so familiar. How he’s ached, felt empty without it. And yeah, he doesn’t say anything about it again, but he’s missed this so damned much, he feels full, complete now he’s got Bones back, _only I’ll lose you again…I always do..._

“Jim, you’ve got to stop making those noises, it’s…I’m not going to last five seconds, seriously.”

Fuck, Jim thinks, his _voice_ , the way the words slide into the dust when Bones starts to lose it. He’s developed such a kink for that voice; till he came to Atlanta, Jim’s fucked any guy sounded like he was from the south; countless times in rest rooms, truck stops, alleys, trying to find Bones in every one of them as he begged they called him darlin’ when he came, till he had to stop – it hurt too much. And the past eighteen months Jim’s only slept with women; couldn’t face being with a guy who wasn’t Bones, not when he must have been somewhere in the city, so close.

“Oh, God, I love it when you come without me touching you.” Leonard’s cock’s radiating heat behind him and Jim reaches, holds it gently, reverently – convinced he’d recognize this curved tip, those veins, that velvet soft skin in a fucking line-up, blind-folded, drunk – then releases it when Leonard yelps behind him and stills.

“I do that? Bull-shh… I’ve never…fuck, _fuck_ …”

And again, Jim thinks, words like ‘never’ and ‘always’ fragment in their strange relationship.

Jim pulls away from Leonard’s fingers and turns to straddle him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, Bonesy.”

“Don’t you _dare_ call me that!” Yeah, Jim loves that petulant, rugged face, those pouting lips, the scowl; even when Leonard gets what he wants, he’s arguing all the way. Makes it so damned sweet when he gives it up. Every time.

Wiping sweat off his face with the back of his hand, Jim smirks and angles Bones’ cock. “Okay, if I recall, I was doing a little bit of instruction here.” Bones gives a pained expression, eyebrows working overtime. “What, you don’t like the word ‘instruction’?” Bones lets out a groan. Jim totally knows he fucking _does_. “I can stop.”

“If I’d known you were this sadistic, Jim, I wouldn’t have—”

Jim stops his descent onto Leonard’s cock and he leans over, swipes his tongue across Leonard’s cheek, links lubed fingers with his and whispers, “Fuck me, Bones, I’m yours, just fuck me, come _on_.” And he pushes down in one hard movement, feels like he’s being split in two, but it’s good, so fucking good to have Bones back after two years, the man he’s known since he was a child and he tugs at his own cock and comes with a shout, with Bones, _Bones_ , just seconds behind him.

 

+++

 

Jim’s been staring at Bones for a long time while he sleeps. He’s not quite snoring but there’s grumbles and huffs while Bones dreams about God knows what. He’s got one arm slung across his face, one eye covered, and Jim’s transfixed by the sight of the rise and fall of his chest. He considers taking a picture with his comm but he’s not sure if this breaks the ‘rules’ or not. He doesn’t see why not – this is in ‘real’ time, after all, there’s nothing fucked up about the two of them together, here, now. Thing is, he really doesn’t want to move.

He runs a careful finger along Bones’ skin, from the bicep, to the inner arm, then to the wrist. Bones is less muscled than Jim’s used to seeing; he’s younger, maybe he hasn’t started working out yet, but he still has strong, tan, legs, from all the running he’s probably doing already. He needs to run, needs to be fit so he can escape danger all those times he jumps into trouble.

Jim examines each of Bones’ fingers in turn, like he’s checking a new born, which, in some ways he is to Jim. Young, fresh _adult_ Bones who he’s never met before – it’s the closest they’ve ever been in age, just six years apart, equals at last. This is what it would have been like if they’d met under ‘normal’ circumstances. He doubts he’d have been able to entice Bones into the sack though, in different, less intriguing circumstances, and he feels a moment of panic at that. But the question’s academic – this was meant, this was how things were always _supposed_ to be; he and Bones, together.

Then Jim remembers, and he scoots down the bed, searches Bones’ skin, for the tatt Bones got that time, the one of three nautical stars, just where his thigh and hipbone meet, just for Jim, something he could carry with him always, he’d said. Not surprisingly it’s not there. Of course it isn’t. Bones never told him when he got it. The tattoo, smaller than the finger nail on Jim’s thumb exists someplace, in some time, just not here.

Jim sighs, kisses his finger tip and rests it in the spot the tattoo should be. He’s got one in the same place, of a bone, and he’s surprised Bones didn’t say anything last night, maybe he didn’t notice…

Jim finally pulls himself away reluctantly and heads for the small bathroom. The place is a fucking mess – again, this isn’t Bones who he’s used to, who was always nagging Jim to tidy up after himself, _look_ after himself.

Jim realizes he’s never had access to Bones’ personal effects, his home before. It’s always been Jim’s place, the farmhouse, the Chevy, the meadow – and Jim thinks back to their first encounter to how incredible it had been to see Bones dissolve into nothing like that, like an alien or something. He’d known then, he swears, that this was his guardian angel. Sure plenty’s gone wrong in Jim’s life up to now, Frank, all – he doesn’t want to even think the word – the other ‘shit’, his Mom practically estranged from him; but Bones, is always _there_ , like a background hum in his life, loving Jim even before either of them knew this was what it was.

Jim finishes his piss and kicks the lid down with his foot, flushes and leans over the sink to wash his face, his hands, his cock. He slides open the cabinet above the sink, rattles a jar of vitamins, then spots a rack full of vials. He takes one out, removes the stopper and detects the faint whiff of alcohol – this must be the Drink Me older Bones had told him about – he’s never seen any before. He replaces it, and takes out a hair brush and sniffs it. It doesn’t smell like Bones and he squints, teases out a long, blonde hair. Hmm… Jim feels a pang of jealousy then shrugs it off. It’s no big deal – they’re not really exclusive, how can they be even though, truth be told, every time Jim’s in bed with someone, male, female or even that one time with an Andorian, he’s thinking about Bones, comparing, imagining, it’s just… and hell, now, up until last night, they haven’t even ‘met’ yet…he’s got no right. Jim’s lost count of how many he’s fucked in the past two years – he doesn’t like to sleep alone, didn’t know that till he’d lost Bones. Two whole years, shit.

He crawls back into bed, sidles up to Bones ever so gently, so as not to wake him, presses back into morning wood and smiles – yeah, Jim gets the feeling Bones is going to wake up real soon.

 

+++

 

_Iowa: 2247 – Jim is 14, Leonard is (29)_

Leonard  
 _He’s_ got no right – why the little fuck. “You’ve got no self-respect, no fucking idea.” Leonard punches the wall, winces, brings his hand to his mouth and sucks.

“Yeah, like you care,” Jim spits, “like you even want me. I fucking _love_ you, Bones, it’s always you, always _been_ you but, shit – you don’t see me like that. I’m just a kid to you.”

Leonard stays back, doesn’t trust himself, what he’ll do to Jim if he thinks about anyone else’s hands on Jim, touching him — Leonard has to be so damned careful what he says here. In the end all he can manage is, “But you’re fourteen, Jim, _fourteen_ – holy shit.” Leonard slumps into the shitty chair on Jim’s porch.

The house is empty, Frank’s at Riverside and he’s not due back till the following afternoon and so this is what Jim does.

Jim’s been back just two months, fucked up, silent a lot of the time when Leonard’s jumped back; and even with gentle pressing – even though Leonard knows enough about what went down, although it’s all Top Secret (but people will talk), and digging around the cryptic files he’s managed to unearth enough through hours of research – Jim won’t say fuck about it other than, “Another time, k, Bones?” or “Shit went down.”

Leonard vows that one day, if and when he learns how to control his jumping, he’ll help Jim prepare for Tarsus, help him find ways that’ll give him those resources he’ll need to maybe make it less painful – though what the hell he can teach Jim about anything, about how to survive, what he’ll _inevitably_ see, whatever Bones’ intervention, he doesn’t know.

And now, Jim’s all of a sudden discovered sex. Great.

The first couple of times it was some local woman, older by ten years and Leonard tried to ignore the statutory rape issue, knew Jim needed someone to touch him, make him feel alive, but this? A _guy_ , someone else instead of Leonard, someone who’s just into a fuck. The guy was under age too from what Jim’s said; but seventeen, old enough to know better, close enough in age so Jim’s lie that he was sixteen rang true.

Damned icy-blue, old man’s eyes — that’s what Jim’s had since he’s been back. And suddenly, Jim’s apparently developed the ability to talk anyone into anything, developed a single-mindedness, an I’ll-take-no-shit-from-anyone attitude that’s seen him finally hit back at Frank, so Frank won’t touch him, which is good, but which also means Jim’s truly running riot now, doing whatever the fuck he wants. Jim trashed his old hideaway, the Chevy, eighteen months ago – the reason he was sent to relatives on Tarsus; and with it went a significant part of his childhood and everything that was left of George Kirk.

“And he wasn’t the first.”

Leonard clenches his hand, knows Jim wants to hurt him, make him pay for some kind of ‘neglect’ he fancies he’s suffered but Leonard knows enough about human psychology to get that this is just self-abuse. Jim likely feels disconnected, violated, worthless and the sex — it’s like an antidote to that. Or maybe an affirmation.

“I’m not going to hit you, whatever you say, _whatever_ you do – so quit goading me,” Leonard finally manages.

“You don’t fucking own me.” Jim’s right up in his personal space now. He nudges Leonard’s feet apart with a sneakered foot and stands between his parted thighs, looking down at him like sin personified and, god help him, Leonard feels a stirring in his balls that makes him want to puke.

“I know that Jim.” Leonard looks away, can’t bear to admit to himself that this is exactly what he wants, to own Jim, to have him all to himself. And now it’s too late. All those times the past few months that Jim’s waved his ass at him, and Leonard’s looked away, distracted himself, parried because it would be wrong to touch him, but all he achieved was to leave the door open for some undeserving, acne-riddled little fuck to touch what’s his. He didn’t talk enough, didn’t listen enough, couldn’t give Jim what he really needed when, from Jim’s crazy, hormonal perspective, all that could be was sex – the only comfort Jim understands.

“I need you to get the fuck out of my face. You’re not my dad, you got no right. Why would I want to hang out with some old guy who’s never here, someone doesn’t even know what his dick’s for, when I can have anyone I want, _whenever_ I w—”

And, with impeccable timing, Leonard feels the prickle of adrenaline at his scalp, the rise of puke into his throat and he grips his face, the world spins and he’s somewhere, some-time else, naked and alone again, taking the image of Jim’s panicked face with him.

Scrabbling to his feet, Leonard instantly recognizes his shitty apartment from three years back. He hasn’t returned to his present but experienced a rare double-jump and he’s in his Atlanta bathroom. He can hear voices from the bedroom.

Leonard sluices his mouth out with water, sits on the bath and waits.

 

+++

 

 _2253: Atlanta: Jim is 20, Leonard is 26 (and 29)_

Leonard  
06:00 – the light’s creeping in through the blinds and Jim’s asleep. It’s been over twelve hours now and they’ve barely left the bed other than to take a piss, to take a shower together, to drink some milk straight out of the carton. They ate some speckled bananas off the kitchen table until the sight of Jim fellating the fruit had Leonard dragging him back to the bed, searching out the half-chewed fruit from Jim’s mouth with his tongue. Leonard fucked him savagely over the foot-board, relieved there were no protests about how sore Jim must be by now, because he’s wondering whether he would have been able to stop, such is his sudden, inescapable hunger to have Jim in every position he can think of, as many times as he can manage. He stopped asking himself why, hours ago, and it was just ‘how’. How could he recover quickly enough, how could he just keep doing this, fucking Jim and still manage to hold down a job, since that would entail leaving his side.

Leonard considers sliding down the bed, taking Jim’s flaccid, musky cock in his mouth, waking him up; but shit, the kid needs to sleep. He sits on the side of the bed staring down at his feet, toes clinging the rug, thinking about how Jim’s sucked them, wondering if anyone else would want every little part of him like this.

He sighs, gives in to the need to visit the bathroom then, with one last glance over his shoulder, he pushes the door to and stands at the john. He nearly covers the rug in piss when he hears a voice, his _own_ voice, from behind the shower curtain.

“You’re with Jim.”

“Fuck, warn a guy!” Leonard growls, “and lower your fucking voice, I don’t want him to hear you!”

Leonard leans on the edge of the sink and watches as his doppelganger pulls back the curtain, steps over the edge of the bath and sits down. Older Leonard looks like shit but regards him coolly, like this is the most normal thing in the world, to be standing looking at yourself, a past version of you just half a meter away. Thing is, this _is_ normal — to them. Nevertheless, it’s been a while since he’s seen Older Leonard — months.

“It’s okay, dumb-ass, he’s seen us both together…well he _will_ – that’s some night, I can tell ya…”

Leonard rolls his eyes at the same time as he feels another stirring in his cock, “Shit – he’s going to kill me…”

Older Leonard chuckles, nods at his counter-part’s cock. “It won’t break, don’t worry!”

“Listen, you need to get out of here. I’ll get you some clothes. Go to the diner across the street and I’ll come get you later. I’ll go get some cash and a PADD to keep you busy. I might be a while…”

Older Leonard grabs Leonard’s wrist. “No you won’t…” he hisses, “You’ve got to get rid of him.”

“What? What the fuck do you mean?” Leonard shrugs his wrist free, “And why have you never told me about him?”

An identical eye-roll reflects back at him. “You don’t need to ask me that.”

“Well, okay, yeah – but he’s here now, he’s obviously a significant fucking person in my life—”

“—the only constant, my brother—”

“Don’t call me that, you know it makes me pissed.”

“But I like making you pissed.”

Older Leonard goes to the bathroom door, presses his very naked back against it. “Seriously, listen to me, I can’t tell you why, but you need to let slip about Joss, if you get a chance, don’t be obvious about it.”

“What the _fuck_? Surely if I was going to let slip, I would anyway, you/I – dammit – wouldn’t be able to stop it, whatever. I’ve never been able to stop anything happening before this, I couldn’t save daddy, _we_ couldn’t stop the boating accident, we couldn’t talk mom out of taking that shuttle… I—“

“It’s different with Jim.”

“What? How? We can’t change what happens.”

Older Leonard’s eyes are burning. “Jus’ fucking _trust_ me.”

Leonard thinks about this, knows that although this makes no sense at all, doesn’t _fit_ in the slightest, there’s no way that Older Leonard would lie about this.

“Okay,” he whispers, his stomach broiling. “Tell me what I’ve got to do.”

“It’s simple, however he reacts, whatever he says, don’t talk him round, don’t do anything. It’s real important,” Older Leonard says.

Leonard nods helplessly. “Okay, I don’t fucking get it, but _you_ do, that’s good enough for me.”

“Good, now get, before I whip you with a towel, and make sure he doesn’t come in here.”

“You don’t need to tell me that, asshole.”

Leonard opens the door, pulls it firmly behind him and goes back to Jim.

on to part 4 

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	4. 4

**Part 4**

 **Alice:  
I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see.**

 _2253: Atlanta: Jim is 20, Leonard is 26 (and 29)_

Leonard  
“What’s this?” Leonard says, clearing his throat. His thumb moves over the skin where Jim’s hip and thigh meet.

Jim sits up and peers down at him with lazy eyes, the finest slither of blue around permanently blown pupils.

“It’s a penis, doctor – been giving me a lot of trouble lately. Got anything for it?”

“Asshole – no – I mean _this_ …” Leonard runs his thumb over the tattoo, a simple, inked bone.

Jim stills, and his legs tense under him. He doesn’t answer so Leonard pushes, “What does it _mean_ , Jim?”

Jim looks at the ceiling. “It’s just a tatt – it reminds me of something someone once said to me.”

“Someone? _Who_?”

“Listen, it’s dumb – okay?” Jim’s flushed, his eyes dart to the side, eyebrows drawn together and he shifts slightly, away from Leonard’s touch. He grips Jim’s hip.

“No, Jim.” Leonard sits up, runs his hand through his hair; shit he should get it cut, drives him crazy sometimes. His chest’s one big ache of feeling as he glances down at the tattoo again, its permanence. “ _Tell me..._ ”

“What do you think this is?” Jim says softly, reaching down to touch his face. “I’ve been _telling_ you what it means all fucking night.”

Jim shifts down the bed, flops onto his back again and snakes a leg around Leonard’s hip so he can’t help but lean further towards him.

“Dammit, Jim.”

+++

They’re on their sides, their combined semen and sweat cooling, lips raw, chests heaving still and Leonard’s eyes are half closed, a hand across his face.

He can’t get his head around this crazy kid with his fading black eye and his rough hands and he can’t forget his older self staked out in the bathroom for nearly two hours, no doubt amusing himself with the medical journals and trivia books he always keeps by the john.

Somewhere in his chest, a sob’s been threatening to break free for several minutes. Must be his blood sugar levels are low, that’s why he feels so light-headed – they really should eat something.

“Bones?”

“Yeah, kid?” Jim’s hand is stroking Leonard’s chest, his mouth’s pressed against his shoulder.

“I missed you,” Jim mumbles into Leonard’s chin.

“Yeah, you said that.”

His lips find Jim’s again, his mind beginning to forget what it was like to not know this and, for the first time, it occurs to him he wouldn’t have things any other way.

+++ 

This time they take it slow, burning like embers, neither of them has to be anywhere and he rocks into Jim, with Jim lying on his back, legs slack round his hips, holding his ankles, Jim’s hooded, almost black eyes fixed on his, Jim’s hands constantly on his skin, his face, like Jim still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that he’s really there.

“Who usually tops?” Leonard asks after.

Jim laughs. “There isn’t a ‘usually’, Bones, we’ve only fucked once before, well more than once, but one night – and you want me to kiss’n’tell? That’s not my style, old man.”

Jim’s stroking under Leonard’s balls, while he tongues the inside of his thigh, and reaches a hand up to tweak Leonard’s nipples sending a shudder down to his exhausted cock. Fuck – Leonard had no idea they were this sensitive.

“How old was I?” Breaking his own rule, Leonard wants to know, shifting under Jim, thinking of who’s in the bathroom.

“Oh, I don’t know…thirty, forty…” Jim’s voice might be a little cagey, or is he just teasing; after all, young kids, they think anyone over thirty’s practically senile. He’d swipe Jim across the top of his stupid, blond head – if only he had the strength left to raise his arm.

“How can you not know?”

Jim’s face is suddenly serious. He crawls up Leonard’s body, folds his arms across Leonard’s chest, works his legs between Leonard’s so their feet are touching. “I’m not supposed to say… _you_ told me.” Eyes wide, clear, knowing and innocent all at once.

“ _I_ told you? “ Leonard shakes his head. In a way, he hates that Jim knows about his life, about stuff he won’t be able to change. Knowing things, what’s _going_ to happen is hell, real hell; freedom of choice is removed and all that’s left is fear, dark premonition. But this, Leonard’s, never been the one wanting to know, never had the opportunity to ask anyone other than his older self, so he pushes. “What else did I tell you?”

Jim clears his throat and his voice is ragged. “That, we… we get married one day…” Vulnerable eyes blink, so close to Leonard’s face, electric blue – fucking beautiful. His heart hitches and he hears himself snort, hears his voice like it’s controlled by someone, _something_ else – not him.

“But I’m married _now_ , how can I—?”

Shit. That came out all wrong. What he wanted to say was, why _would_ he ever want to do that again, not…but it’s too late. He can’t undo the past especially the past made a few seconds ago and, for once, he doesn’t even try. Fuck.

Jim’s sits up like he’s just dodged a missile or something. Long legs swinging off the side of the bed, he pushes Leonard’s staying hand away roughly, starts to get dressed.

“You’re fucking _married_ , what the _fuck_?”

And although Jim’s voice drives through Leonard’s chest like a primitive torture instrument, Leonard remembers he has to bite his tongue, not stop him or talk him round, that’s what Older Leonard had said. So he stays quiet – even through the panic as he watches Jim scoop his shit off the floor where he tipped it out the night before in his search for lube.

Leonard gapes, remains silent while Jim tosses his socks into the duffle bag pulls on his jeans, his boots and wrestles his t-shirt over that scrawny back, though it fucking kills him, and he wonders how Jim could even begin to understand about his car-crash of a marriage.

Jim grabs his jacket, looks back one last time, his face crumpled, like all the wind’s taken out of him, like he’s struggling not to cry, his voice harsh disillusionment.

“You lied to me, man, you _lied_ to me.”

“Jim, I…”

Useless, useless words.

The door slams.

Christ, Jim wasn’t saying _he_ was lying, not Leonard McCoy who he met last night, but the _other_ one, the one in the bathroom, the one Jim’s known all his life – Jim Kirk, the skittish little brat with his hands permanently in fists, has likely only ever trusted one person, and that person, Leonard McCoy, albeit his future self, wasn’t who he said he was. He wasn’t Jim’s.

+++

It’s too late, always too late, but Leonard still hasn’t learned that lesson it seems, so he has to try – fuck what Older Leonard told him – he doesn’t want Jim to leave like this. His heel lands on something sharp and he kicks his foot, reaches down to see what it was and curses. It’s a kid’s toy, a dog about the size of a peach stone – it must have fallen out of Jim’s bag. His fingers close around it and he runs for the window, throws it open and cranes to watch Jim stride out of the apartment building.

It’s mid-afternoon, they’ve been together all night, all morning – it _worked_ , dammit, and he feels a pang of anger that he’s been manipulated by…then he feels a touch on his arm and Older Leonard’s standing beside him, like an ink-print, leaning through the window, looking down the street too. He says nothing, neither of them do, and Leonard leans onto his elbows, takes comfort from Older Leonard’s hand stroking the back of his neck. At this moment, it feels like he’s the only friend he’s got in the world – and how fucked up is that?

+++

On auto-pilot, Leonard checks his comm for messages again. He’s rung Jim half a dozen times already but the unit’s turned off. He sits at his computer, scans his inbox to see if Joss has contacted him. Of course she hasn’t, she hasn’t for six months and neither has he – _see,_ Jim?

It’s his day off and Leonard doesn’t have to be anywhere so he decides to spend what’s left of it holed up in the hope Jim gets over himself in a few hours and comes back. Then he’ll explain things – how it’s all over with Joss; how she told _him_ to go, how Older Leonard had… He rubs an eye, slaps his thigh, fucking furious at himself for not really even questioning that he ‘had’ to do this.

He glances through to his bedroom where he can see his counterpart’s got his eyes closed and wonders whether he should wake him. It’s never a good idea to sleep when he’s jumped; he’ll wake up bewildered, and if he jumps in his sleep,he'll be instantly in danger, at a disadvantage. But Older Leonard seems to sense him looking over, cracks open an eye and says, “I’m okay.” He goes back to dozing and that’s good enough for Leonard, knows he’s just being given space to think.

He realizes he hasn’t a clue where the kid works, nor where he lives. It strikes him as bizarre that he should have spent the night with someone, opened up completely, when he knows nothing about him. This isn’t Leonard’s usual dance – he’s generally hesitant with women, crap at flirting, resorting to defensive, maybe sarcastic, and a little unbelieving at any attention. Plus, he’s out of practice. Joss was safe, they’d known each other for years; and, as for men, yeah, he’s been interested in a couple over the years but it’s never gone past a drunken kiss.

Jim, on the other hand, has shaken him up big time. Leonard has had some pretty good sex before and, once he’s been sure of someone, gotten over that initial fear of rejection, he’s ended up being the one calling the shots. But that was all a long time ago now. He’s never been courted, backed into a wall so to speak and, to his surprise, he let it happen.

Leonard’s tasted a submissive vein in his sexuality that kind of disturbs him. Joss has always goaded him about being a control freak, and he puts this down to the time-traveling, to how he always feels so out of control for obvious reasons, that he’s bound to want to take charge in the here and now. So, it makes no sense at all that Jim pushing, taking the lead, should turn him on so much.

Leonard stares at the computer pondering what to do next. The kid was acting like the two of them had been betrothed at birth or something, and thinking about what he’s been through the past couple of years with Joss, maybe it’s for the best Jim left when he did. Maybe Leonard’s not ready to handle this ‘bond’ or whatever the fuck Jim thinks they’ve got. Sure he likes the kid, more than, but it was all moving so fast, making him feel helpless. But the sex, shit – the intense blue of those eyes, the way Jim knew how to play Leonard’s body, the way he knew about things Leonard liked before he even knew it himself...

His eyes are drawn to the toy sitting safely on the desk by an empty coffee cup, wonders why the hell Jim carries it round with him and makes a mental note to ask Older Leonard about it.

As he feels tears prick again, he decides to distract himself and opens up a few bookmarks on his computer – another futile search for leads so he can understand his condition, maybe find someone else. But his mind insists on wandering as he treads over well-worn trails.

He wonders why he bothers to do anything at all, if indeed anything he chooses to do is in his control.

Leonard’s long suspected that whatever action he takes, it’s never really a _decision_ in the true sense of the word. Sometimes he thinks he’s in fact following some thread, some ‘right’ path that he only _thinks_ he’s chosen and the jumps aren’t random but controlled by someone or something else.

It seems like his life’s mapped out in some way. If that’s true, Jim’ll be back soon enough. Then, does he want to see Jim again because of some real feeling, or because he’s _meant_ to…does the feeling come from habit, from ‘always’ having known each other…? Fuck if he knows. And what the hell was that about their getting married?

Sometimes, Leonard thinks, scrolling absently through the latest Starfleet newsfeed, there is in actual fact a plan, like he’s part of some cosmic mystery and all the pieces will slot together in the end. If so, why is he connected with Jim? Is Jim the important piece? Leonard shakes his head; he can’t fucking stand this -- nothing connected with him turns out well: his daddy, Joss, their miscarried babies, everything’s gone to shit.

Sure, maybe the kid’s right, maybe they do stay hooked up for a while, but it’s probably just about sex. After all, he can’t imagine this kid amounting to much, ever getting a job that would match his abilities; he’s just a drifter – why would he want to stick around? Sure, he seemed bright enough but he has no education to speak of, he hadn’t mentioned his family, any ambition. Jim was entirely focused on the moment with him, clinging to him almost, like _this_ was Jim’s life’s ambition and all he wanted. He remembers what Older Leonard had said in the bathroom, how Jim had to find his own way – so how was hanging out with a miserable, near-alcoholic failure like himself gonna help him do that?

Leonard grinds his teeth, tries to concentrate and clicks on another link. He’s not done any research for a while – coming up against dead end after dead end has made him weary after all these years.

Each time he’s searched for ‘chrono-impairment’ he gets nothing. Not surprising since it’s a term coined by his father who had at least identified the errant gene they believed to be responsible for the jumping but, in the past few years, he hasn’t had one lead. Most of the handful of specialists he’s consulted have either not believed him or have viewed the condition as an aberration rather than a genetic disorder that can be fixed, predicted. One had begged to study him but Leonard knew the guy was after publicity rather than having an interest in serious research and went no further with it, deciding he’d crack this himself. Older Leonard, after all, intimated this was the best course.

So, while Leonard continues with his research on his own, he continues to put out appeals on the nets, under pseudonyms, even though all he gotten are religious nuts and idiots when what he’s wanted is to find someone like himself. Well, maybe he hasn’t quite given up, but Leonard’s long accepted there’s no one out there jumps, not on Earth at least, and with his and Jocelyn’s unsuccessful attempts at having a child, there never will be again. The crazy line that started some generations ago, according to his Gram, is gonna die with him and he can’t say he’s sorry.

When he happens upon another list of crazy-ass sites where lunatics are espousing conspiracy theories, he fetches another coffee, tiptoeing across the room so as not to disturb Older Leonard.

Trawling through Starfleet’s public reports on missions has proved fruitless too.

Then finally, it’s not quite a eureka moment, but he pauses when he’s linked to a fragment of text in a Federation diplomat’s blog:

 _…the Det’hnih’di, a lost race which allegedly has the ability to travel forwards and backwards in time at will…_

He skim reads up and down the text and discovers the diplomat hasn’t even met any of these time-travelling aliens, and it seems it’s all hearsay. The entry was posted four years prior and the rest of it’s drier than week-old grits. He hovers over the back button then something stops him and he scrolls up to the top – Sarek. Yeah, the name rings a bell.

“Sarek…” he tries the name out loud and his eyes widen at the surname. “What the fuck kind of name is that?”

“It’s unpronounceable for humans,” Older Leonard chimes from the bed.

“You heard of him?”

“Yeah – he’s big in the Federation, Vulcan ambassador to Earth.”

“Ah…well, he’d better not be in a hurry to give up his day job an’ write…” Leonard smirks. “Hey, asshole, you ever heard of the…” Leonard leans towards the screen and manages to say “ Det’hnih’di? Or something…” Older Leonard doesn’t answer. “Maybe I’ll…”

And Leonard drafts an email. What Leonard needs to know is two things: whether he can control his movement through time, or preferably, if he can stop it all together so that he can get on with his life. He’s hardly surprised when nothing here helps enlighten him. The Det’hnih’di are about as elusive as King Arthur and just as likely to conveniently emerge so he can poke about in their genes to see if he can learn anything. He double checks the spelling of Det’hnih’di, and he’s done – yet his finger hovers over the send button.

Sarek won’t answer, he’s bound to be too busy – it may not even reach him, get past his embassy staff, and the blog’s no doubt ghost written anyway. When he reads Sarek’s bio, he discovers the ambassador’s almost as big as the Federation president, and his mother, T’Pau, turned down a seat on Federation council. Yeah, no way he’ll answer an email from a simple country doctor.

Leonard checks back to the most recent entry, reads the first paragraph, skips it, and then reads through his email again. He’s covered all the salient points, his medical history, outlined the disorder, asked if Sarek would be interested in speaking with him and sharing anything he’s learned about the Det’hnih’di, and that he’s looking for ways to control his jumping even if he can’t find a cure. He explains that his disorder goes way back in the family but that there are no other instances on or off-planet that he’s aware of.

He’s kept it factual – knowing enough about Vulcans that if he mentions his sadness at the miscarriages, his sense of being trapped, his fear that he’ll die before he gets a chance to hit thirty, it wouldn’t work in his favor, make him sound too emotional. Yeah, it’s clear, the tone’s right, but still he doesn’t hit send.

While he thinks, he searches for further information about the Det’hnih’di. There’s nothing other than a one line entry in an alien species taxonomy which is no more enlightening than the blog entry: ‘ _There are no known incidences of Federation sightings or records of contact with this species. It is suspected that the Det’hnih’di are extinct if they existed at all, with no evidence of a home planet or culture on any recorded planets_.’ Peachy.

That’s it for the day, he thinks wearily. Nothing doing: ‘officially’ time travel isn’t possible: black holes as time travel conduits is merely theoretical; there’s another theory known as ‘the slingshot effect’ which he read about a few years back, but again this involves space travel, ships, mathematics and a lot of what-ifs. None of this shit comes close to explaining his jumps which are more like a transporter effect. Nothing to help control his comings and goings.

Leonard reads through the draft email once more, wavers – dammit, now that he’s read it again, he’s sure he sounds like a crazy. He has no idea if Sarek is even on Earth or indeed in range to pick up any messages, and he doesn’t hold out hope; yet, dammit, it’s the only lead he’s had in years and something tells him happening upon this scrap of information now is significant.

He makes his way into the bedroom and throws a pillow onto Older Leonard’s chest.

“What do you think? Should I hit send? Will it work?”

Older Leonard, shrugs. “I’m trying to sleep, shut the fuck up will ya? And cut your hair, you look like a hippy.”

Leonard regards his future self. “I could have done without knowing that I turn out to be such a miserable asshole when I’m older,” he grouches.

“Hey, not so much of the old!” comes the retort, “and it’s kind of strange that even with all that sex you’ve just had, you’re as much a miserable asshole as I am.”

“So, should I send this goddamn mail or not?” Leonard sighs, knowing he doesn’t need to explain _which_ email.

“Up to you…”

“Well, seeing as you _are_ me, it can’t do any harm thinking this through together – seems you like telling me what to do when it suits you.”

“Why you making such a big deal out of this? Jim suck your common sense outta your cock?”

Leonard winces at the remark, as the emptiness returns. Older Leonard’s looking at him with irritable, blood-shot eyes, and rests his hand on younger Leonard’s arm. “Looking at porn sites hasn’t taken your mind off him, then?” he asks gently.

“Fuck off,” Leonard says with a sigh. “Little shit was right, those things he said in the exam room.”

 _Even when there are other people, there’s only us._

“Yeah, he does that a lot…be right, I mean.” Older Leonard turns away and closes his eyes again.

Leonard sits on the end of the bed. “How d’ya get that welt across your face – want me to fix it?”

“Sure, why not?” Older Leonard says.

Leonard, fetches his med kit out, runs a tricorder over his older version’s knuckles and his face – it’s just a contusion, nice colour but nothing to worry about. “You been in a fight?”

Older Leonard shrugs. “Well, I’m not sayin’ but, you know what it’s like out there…”

Leonard nods. “What time’ve you come from?”

Older Leonard scowls. “Well, I owe it to you to tell ya something, I suppose. I just did a double-jump. First to Jim, _teenage_ Jim, can you imagine? This one in the here and now’s kinda preferable, believe me. Raging hormones be damned…you’ll find out. Then, I jump here. And…guess I needed a friend…”

He looks at Older Leonard while he’s cleaning up his bruised knuckles – naturally Older Leonard doesn’t concede his actual age but Leonard reckons it’s maybe five years older than he is. “And this? Well, before I bumped into Jim, I ran into a couple of rednecks—”

“—Always fun.”

Leonard hasn’t travelled for a few months but he hates more than anything, the way he hits the ground running, dizzy, wiping puke from his mouth, naked, cold, assessing the situation, diving for cover, looking for opportunities to steal or find clothing. And it’s got him beaten on, backed into a corner more times than he cares to think about.

Leonard throws the wipes into the wastebasket on top of the wet facecloths he’d used to wipe Jim’s face and chest down a few hours ago. He closes his eyes, composes himself and snaps the med kit shut.

“Is it weird I miss him?” Leonard says.

“No.”

“It’s the sex, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Tight lipped fuck, tell me – when’s he come back? He’ll call in a couple of days, right?”

Older Leonard shrugs, stares at him.

“Jeez, you’re about as much use as a trap-door on a canoe. Can you at least read this email through for me?” Leonard tries again.

“What can I tell you that you don’t already know?” Older Leonard says. They both laugh. He’s ‘borrowed’ Leonard’s pajamas and he lopes out of the bedroom, leans over, peers at the screen and points out a typo. Leonard follows, makes the change.

“So do you think he’ll answer?” Leonard asks.

Older Leonard rolls his eyes. “Seriously, when are you going to get the hang of this – there’s three things can happen: he can answer saying ‘fuck off’; answer saying he wants to talk more; or he’ll not reply at all. Whatever I say to you now, won’t make shit difference to what actually happens. You know that. Quit your nagging.”

“I’ve got to get this fixed, the jumping’s fucking driving me crazy. And when I think what Joss has been through.” Leonard watches something pass over Older Leonard’s’ face when he mentions his/their estranged wife’s name, “ the miscarriages, I’m thinking I should have a vasectomy. I know it’s all over between the two of us, but…I can’t pass this condition on to anyone, can’t put another human being through what I’ve been through, what Joss has had to suffer…all those fucking babies gone.” He examines his older self’s face, the eyes don’t say fuck. This bullshit that you can see a person’s soul…fuck that. But he wishes this dead-pan bastard would help him. “I mean do we, _did_ we, have a vasectomy?”

Older Leonard ignores the question, goes back to the bed, rolls to his side and picks up a PADD. He passes a minute chuckling through the newsnet. “I can’t believe it’s the early fifties all over again – crazy, fucked up shit,” he says. He puts the PADD down and looks at his younger self with something like an expression of compassion. “The toy,” he says, “the dog, keep it safe, okay? Don’t’ keep it on you, you know, in case you jump and lose it. He’s had it for years – means a lot.”

Leonard breathes past the lump in his throat and nods.

“So Jim…” Older Leonard says – his tone non committal but his eyes shining bright. “…that was some crazy day and night, wasn’t it?”

He knows it’s nuts, but Leonard can’t understand, even though he’s essentially talking with _himself_ , why he’s blushing. Leonard’s glad he’s wearing his nice, baggy boxers. “Wanna come tell me about it?” Older Leonard says from the bed.

“Sure, let me send this email first.”

+++

“Tell me everything,” Older Leonard says sinking his head into the pillow.

“But you were there.”

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago now – I’ll never forget how he really had me strung out, with that tongue of his, up our ass. Fucking amazing…”

They stretch out on the bed alongside each other, not quite spooning but really close. Leonard notices how his older self is more muscled, has lines beginning to form around his eyes. He’s never seen himself perceptibly older than this and wonders if this means he’ll die within a few years. One thing’s for certain, while Leonard wants to ask the question, he doesn’t really want to know. There is a spark of hope too – maybe there’s going to be some kind of breakthrough that’ll put an end to all this shit, that he’ll – they’ll – be free; he’ll stop jumping.

“I’m relieved to see we haven’t sprouted ear hair,” Leonard says.

“Time enough for that,” Older Leonard chuckles, while pushing his hand down the front of his shorts.

“Still want me to tell you?” Leonard asks, mimicking the movement with his own hand, inside his own shorts.

“God, yeah, take your time too…” comes the sighed reply, Older Leonard’s making himself more comfortable, his hand moving slowly under his pjs.

They fall into step like they’ve always done, starting with a slow, steady up and down movement, and it’s not long before Older Leonard lets go of his own cock, and Leonard takes over, arching into his other self’s touch.

They’ve done this dozens of times over the years, and they’ve never bothered deliberating over whether it’s weird or not – shit, _everything_ about their lives is weird. It’s masturbation, so what if it’s someone else’s hand – if that hand is ‘yours’? Shit, there had to be some advantages to this crazy-assed situation.

“Does this mean I’m gay, the way I like you holding your cock?” Leonard says, not entirely serious.

“Nah, fucking Jim makes you gay!”

“Asshole!” Leonard laughs, punching his counterpart on the arm.

“Now I’m definitely not going to blow you,” Older Leonard says, watching how he’s tweaking his own nipple. “Jim teach you that, huh? Knows you well, doesn’t he? Wonder how—“

“You wouldn’t blow me anyway. Guess that’s one step too far…”

“It’s not that,” Older Leonard says, arching off the bed when Leonard tugs a little too hard, and yes, totally on purpose, “it’s jus’ when you’ve had Jim, nothing else feels quite right.”

Oh. So is he saying everything fixes itself – that Jim’s not gone for good? Something in Leonard’s heart seems to slide back into place.

Leonard lowers his boxers, too lethargic after his sleepless night to bother with shucking them down any further than his knees. They face each other and his counterpart’s tugged his pjs down, just under his balls, where the pressure from the waistband is just how they like it.

They never kiss, or touch each other in any way other than to hold each other’s cocks, pumping in unison – it’s some kind of heaven to know that the pressure is always going to be just right, that it will always last for the right amount of time.

Leonard, continues to tweak his own nipple with his left hand while jacking Older Leonard off with his right, twisting upwards, rubbing his hand though the pre-come. They never bother with lube or anything superfluous. But they always tell each other stories. Once Leonard told Older Leonard, before he knew how things would go to shit between him and Joss, about how he’d slipped his finger into her wetness, about his first time with her, and Older Leonard had nodded, a little sadly; he hadn’t stopped him though he must have known…but tonight, it’s all about Jim.

“The way he sucked me,” Leonard says.

“With his pretty pink lips…”

“His tongue in my ass, hot, probing, fuck,“ Leonard says, “No one’s ever done that to me before.” ‘

“It felt right, like he knew me so well.” Older Leonard grunts.

Even though it had only been the one night, Leonard can’t argue with himself on that point. Yeah, Jim knew him, knew how to play his body, string him out and, “Fuck, it was hot, the way he was telling me what to do, how to do it, and he’s only a kid—”

“—older than his years, “ Older Leonard sighs. They’re getting close, and his hand moves faster on Leonard’s dick. They aren’t looking at each other but at their cocks, inches apart, identical in all details.

Leonard moans, “—and the way he sucked us down, the way he pushed his tight little ass onto our cock—”

“—God, so sweet, so shameless—” Older Leonard agrees.

A part of Leonard’s mind weighs this experience up, wonders how it is that this one night stand ends up being such a significant experience for his future self that he should still be using it as a masturbation fantasy.

“Do I find him again?” Leonard wants to know, on the verge of coming now, their hands in perfect synchronization, and their breathing as one.

“I…” Older Leonard says, looking over at him, compassion in his eyes, “…yeah, we do…just don’t go looking, okay?”

Leonard nods, a surge of joy having him pump harder still. He’s aware that Older Leonard’s spat on his free hand and is fucking himself on two fingers. So he does find Jim again, maybe Jim does _that_ to him, slides his cock inside of Leonard, fucking him hard, maybe that’s what his counterpart’s thinking about, remembering now.

“Oh, shit,” they both growl, coming messily all over the comforter.

They collapse back, wipe their hands on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, slumping like mirror images of each other.

The only difference between their experience was how his older self gasped ‘Jim!’ as he came.

 

+++

Jim   
Jim rides his bike at full throttle and heads north.

He left the apartment, headed back to his place, packed some shit and then did something he’s been meaning to do for a while. He made a few calls and initiated the process of having his trust fund signed over to the surviving Tarsus victims. He doesn’t need the fucking money, doesn’t need anyone to look out for him.

Anger and betrayal have given over to numbness – good, the last think he wants is to feel. Every inch of him aches; inside and outside raw and turned over by Bones, his tongue, his hands, his cock, what he _said_.

What he needs is to keep moving, and though he could do with a shower, get the smell of Bones off his body, _out_ of him, he doesn’t stop, can’t.

He’s still full of Bones’ presence, his touch, his words. He knows this Bones won’t look for him, doesn’t get what ‘they’ mean and strangely, Jim can’t see how this would change. Not now.

He’s read enough science articles, knows enough about the strangeness of the universe from Starfleet official reports, that his head’s spinning with shit about parallel universes, which he kind of understands; but he’s plenty aware that he’s now wondering if the Bones he just left and the one he’s fucked and loved and known all these years _aren’t_ the same man.

Jim stops to re-charge his bike, passes his credit chip over, scowls at the guy making eyes at him over the counter, and thinks about marriage. Bones lied to him. He hasn’t ever told Jim about a _wife_. How can it be? It’s like finding out Santa Claus, the tooth-fairy, his Guardian Angel were all a figments of his imagination.

He needs to start over, _alone_ , Jim thinks, powering up his bike; get the fuck away from his stupid life.

He’ll get work easily enough – there’s always room for someone with his looks in a bar and he could easily fake the paperwork; and he can always fix up cars.

He decides he’ll grab some sleep somewhere, soon as the need overtakes him, but for now, he drives and drives, leaving the heat, Georgia, Leonard McCoy, far behind. Heading to where once was home – Riverside.

 

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	5. 5

**Part 5**

 **"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"  
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.  
"I don’t much care where—" said Alice.  
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.  
"—so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.  
"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough." **

_2252: Atlanta – Leonard is (30) and 25_

Leonard  
Leonard wakes with a start, scrabbling at the covers, reaching out, searching for Jim.

For some seconds, he’s not sure whether he’s lying on his belly or his back. He has no idea what time it is, _when_ it is, and he can’t see the chrono over Jim’s back. He lies still, clammy with sweat, trying not to pant so as not to wake Jim with another of his stupid dreams, can’t help wondering why the hell Jim’s not pressed against him in his usual bed-hog way.

Leonard’s nose is filled with a disgusting metallic smell, foreboding and familiar, that he can’t for the life of him put a name to.

Wisps of a nightmare tempt him back like a narcotic mist and he’s torn between fighting the images away or clinging to them. Sometimes he thinks he has premonitions in his dreams, thinks if he can remember them, if he can find out what’s _going_ to happen, he can prevent it happening even though the rational part of him knows that isn’t possible. Maybe now, if he dares open his eyes, he’ll learn something.

Maybe he’s jumped in his sleep, been propelled by what was a particularly horrific nightmare, though all he’s left with is fear, images of gaunt faces staring at him and a young Jim, helpless, alone, hungry – he dreamed like this a few times when he was a kid, till Gram made him take the Drink Me every night before bed in his milk – so as he didn’t taste the alcohol – so he could wake up in the same place he’d rested his head. He never remembered those dreams, the jumps either — didn’t want to.

As he lies there, he swears he can _feel_ the warmth of Jim’s blood on his hands like the dream’s real, like it’s actually happening now, and he has to save Jim, he’s got to prevent _something_ – it’s…he’s got to…and Leonard’s dragged back to reality by Jim’s sobs, by _someone_ crying, so he winches open his cowardly eyes.

He’s in their bedroom in the past, his _younger self_ and Jocelyn’s bedroom, while he is stretched out on the parquet, half under the bed on his belly inhaling dust bunnies.

His younger self’s sitting up above him, his foot dangling centimeters from Leonard’s arm, oblivious to his counter part’s presence, while he stares at Joss in horror – Older Leonard knows, fuck he was there, and he’s here now, _again_ , and too late. Always too late…

“It’s dead Len, our baby’s dead.”

Joss, poor Joss.

Older Leonard remembers rather than looks, stays still where he is, praying he won’t be seen – Joss in her sleep shorts and t-shirt, a dark stain of blood seeping through the cloth, a trickle advancing down her pale, trembling legs as she looks down at his younger self, her hands wrapped around her middle, pleading with him to fix things, like he could have stopped this happening then – now…

Their babies all jumped out of the womb into oblivion, left her empty, her work undone, him accused, their hopes dashed. Again.

Older Leonard feels tears scar his cheeks, silently mourning his, their lost children, while also praying in gratitude to some hidden deity for Joanna, for his baby girl, and it’s a comfort, one he can’t share with the wretched couple in the room. As his stomach begins to heave, his world to spin again, for once he’s grateful that he jumps, away from all this pain, leaving Leonard and Joss to face another of many long nights ahead together.

 

+++

 

_Atlanta - 2253: Jim is 20, Leonard is 26_

Leonard  
Jim’s been gone three days, Leonard’s sent his email to Sarek and he’s back on shift.

His comm buzzes with a missed message from Joss as he leaves the hospital, heading for the liquor store for a bottle of bourbon.

Getting to his flat, he waits till he’s knocked back one small glass, just to line his stomach before he calls. It’s been months since they last spoke and since Jim, he’s barely thought of her, haunted by re-run memories of his hours with Jim.

“I was on shift,” he says flat and weary. Listening to his own voice like he’s on the outside of his life looking in – he notes how dispassionate he feels to hear from her after all this time. He knows this is the Jim effect – feels a little jag of loss, wonders if he will come back.

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice is breathless, excited.

Leonard looks at what’s left in his glass, thinks he should have something to eat, but dismisses the notion for the umpteenth time that day.

“So, why did you call?” Leonard asks. “It’s been a while.” _You said it was over._

“I saw our baby, Leonard, it was here. It lived, it lived! We have to try again.”

Leonard blinks, processes this thought and wonders when his life became a soap opera of surprise exits, long lost lovers and entrance stage left from his soon-to-be ex-wife.

“Our baby…” he repeats slowly, as kindly as he can manage in his numb state. “But Joss, _darlin’_ , they died…they all jumped. You know that…we can’t, shouldn’t have babies – we agreed. And I’m going to have a vasectomy, we decided.”

The two of them had made up their minds: after four miscarriages, even if another was to survive, they agreed they weren’t about to risk passing on his fucked up genes. He hadn’t been able to find a way of working out the risk soon enough in the pregnancies to know if the baby was going to make it or not. It’s all too damned unclear to take the risk again; they couldn’t put a child through a life like his since all the evidence points to the likelihood of it being a jumper like him. So, how could they have decided to have another baby?

“But Len – this one’s okay!” She’s almost breathless, words running into each other as she continues with an eagerness he’d not heard in God knows how long. “He made it somehow – jumped back to me from the future. I thought it couldn’t happen – that one of our babies would survive, but it has! He’s come back to warn us, to help us, so that we don’t give up, so that we stay together.”

A little sparkle of feeling buried deep within him, fights for his attention even while he knows it’s too late – yeah, maybe she’s right. He survived in utero, after all, as did his Gram and her grandfather before her – all jumpers too.

What the hell is he going to say to her? _Stick to the facts, don’t make it about us._

“Now calm down, Joss, we know I can’t jump back to before my own lifetime.”

“But that’s _you_ , Len – it might work differently with someone else. Maybe the gene works differently in other people. And he _looked_ like you, Len, he was the spitting image of you, but a little boy. _Our_ little boy, Len – oh God, do you realise what this means? We can be together we can try again.”

Leonard hates that he’s allowing her to keep talking, allowing himself to listen, to even think there’s a chance this might be true… Then Jim’s voice echoes in his mind and he feels an unexpected jag of despair which he souses with another refill of his glass. He downs it, pushes the glass away. What the hell? The kid’s just a bum, a hopeless drop out – Joss on the other hand, with or without a child in their life, is stability, the future.

“Len—?”

“Joss, I…” _I need to think, dammit._

 _Older Leonard’s more than intimated Jim is where his future lies, and he hasn’t once mentioned Joss being a part of the picture in years to come, so it makes no sense at all that he should hear himself say:_

 _“Okay, listen just wait for me, we’ll talk. We need to talk but we can’t do it like this. Only I can’t stay long, I have double-shift tomorrow and I’m worn to a frazzle.”_

 _He knows she’s crying when she whispers, “Thank you, Len, yeah – we’ll talk, that’s all. Thank you so much.”_

 __

+++

 _They lie, familiar hands intertwined, sweat cooling on their bodies in their old bed._

 _As soon as he’d arrived, her desperation took him completely by surprise, her determination to kiss him and touch him, her declarations – how she’d missed him, still loved him and, fuck, he’d gone along with it willingly, pity and loneliness and the familiarity of a woman he once loved so much._

 _Leonard doesn’t want to compare this with how it had been with Jim – tells himself it’s neither right nor fair, impossible – like choosing water over fire, companionship over need and hunger. This is just, fuck, _different_ – a consolation, something healing the loneliness. _

He’s known Joss since he was a little kid; it became something in high school and more than once he’d thought how it was like he recognised her the way he’d been drawn to her when they first met.

With Jim there was no damn thinking at all, they were like salmon swimming upstream together, thrashing and struggling under the pull of something intangible, but with no plan, no tomorrow, just a sense that it was right, it was how it should be. Yet, the first sign of stress, and Jim had upped and left.

He and Joss, on the other hand, had been inseparable until all their loss and heartache, her need to have a child obliterating everything good about their marriage. How could she not blame him at the time?

Yet, they have another chance – this is _real_.

Joss pulls her fingers away from his and Leonard doesn’t need to look to know that she’s placed them on her belly, to guide what she hopes is a new baby already forming inside her, the origin of the one she saw, _their_ baby.

“We can be together again,” Joss says, over her shoulder. “Raise this baby right. That’s why he came to see us, me, Len, so we wouldn’t lose heart, so we’d know our marriage was worth fighting for.”

“Tell me again what you saw – the boy does he… did you speak to him?” He can’t hide the eagerness in his voice, “and tell me what he looked like.”

“Well,” she says, practically singing the words, pushing back into him as he pulls the covers over them, “he had your hair and your eyes…”

And suddenly, just like that, his life’s a demolished building. A tide of realisation and nausea overwhelms him, adrenaline pumping across his back and scalp.

He _remembers_ , he understands what, _who_ she saw.

He gathers Joss up tight, burying his chin into her hair, not having the heart to tell her, not knowing where to begin – hating himself for being a coward. But _how_ can he? Where will he find the words to explain the boy she saw wasn’t their child after all but a younger version of _himself_ , when he jumped the very first time, after the boating accident where his cousin, David, died? And he _is_ able to jump forwards in time, though it seems a minor revelation now, in these circumstances.

It’s been so many years since the accident, since his first, terrifying jump, he’s almost managed to obliterate it from his memory… the night when a woman with kind eyes…and it’s only now it dawns on him who the woman in the memory was. It was Joss.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

How the hell did his subconscious ‘decide’ to send this piece of information now, not earlier when Joss called? He wonders how many other jumps he’s forgotten, and this, this incredible revelation that he can go forward too, what does this mean? His mind’s spinning with the implications; then he feels a spasm in his belly, and pushes away from Joss when, oh _not now_ , his heart sets a familiar pounding in his ears, his face heating as his blood pressure spikes, and no, _no_ , not now, please God not _now_ , not when Joss needs him…

 

+++

 

 _The Enterprise: date unknown - Leonard is 25_

Leonard’s jumped – he’s in a door-lined corridor which sweeps in a wide curve. There’s silence around him and he can’t see an obvious way out. The pale, unblemished walls make him wonder for a moment if he’s actually having a dream even though the trickle of vomit at the corner of his mouth tells him otherwise. He snakes his tongue out to retrieve it, and wipes the sweat dripping off his nose with the back of his hand. He’s jumped from Joss, from their house, to here.

The air is cool, clean, odorless and sterile; it reminds him of long shuttle flights. There’s no where to hide and he panics, covers his cock with his hand and starts to plan what he might say should someone happen upon him.

He’s only ever jumped to places he knows in some way, never to somewhere with no hints as to his whereabouts. If he’s discovered, he’ll fall on his stand-by excuse for his nakedness, which doesn’t always have people believing him, but at least buys him time to run – but here, he can’t see where to run to.

Mercifully, the corridor is deserted. He runs his hands along smooth walls, considers tapping on one of the inset doors, but he has no idea who he’ll find behind any of them, and he certainly doesn’t want to seek out a confrontation. There are plates by the doors with room numbers, names, like it’s an institution of some kind, but he doesn’t linger on the details, instead turning away from the wall to scan the corridor. There’s no natural light, no indication of what time of day or night it is and mercifully, no one to spot him in his naked state.

Black, lacquered soundproof floors, curved panels made of blocks, give him the feeling that he’d been swallowed and ended up in some mechanical duodenum. Jeez he hopes the only way out doesn’t involve him being crapped out. A plan on the wall catches his eye and he’s just about to sidle closer, to search for a clue, when he hears an unfamiliar voice behind him.

“Dr McCoy. Why are you not clothed?”

Leonard spins round to be met by the unblinking gaze of a Vulcan in a blue Starfleet uniform, though not in a style he’s seen before. The Vulcan’s raised an eyebrow, calm eyes fixed firmly on Leonard’s face, apparently un-phased by his nudity.

Leonard gapes – this guy, Vulcan – _knows_ him. Curiouser and curiouser. Glancing again at the curved walls, it’s with a sickening feeling he realizes he’s on a starship; shit, just please God let it be in dry dock. It’s then he becomes aware of an almost imperceptible humming under is feet, and knows they must in space. He deep breathes to calm himself before he jumps again. Curiosity overwhelming him, he needs to know why the hell he’s here and _when_ it is. He’s never jumped away from Earth, didn’t know that was even possible and he breaths through the fear that he might jump into the black itself, end it all like a shooting star.

“How do you know my name?”

“A most illogical question since I—”

“—No, not seeing as we haven’t met before. Listen, I’m in trouble here – I need some clothes quick…I’ll explain later, but someone jumped me, took my clothes,”

“‘Jumped’ you?” Leonard can almost see the air-quotes float between them. “I will inform security.”

Leonard grabs the Vulcan’s wrist before he can carry out his threat. “You’ll do no such thing!” He let’s go immediately when the Vulcan looks down at his hand, but doesn’t shake Leonard free. “Look, you gonna wait until I frighten someone who’s not as cool about things as you, or will you help me?”

“Of course, doctor, I am most intrigued to hear your explanation.” The Vulcan steps up to a door and opens it, standing aside as Leonard almost flies through it.

“Clothes, dammit!”

The Vulcan stands coolly watching Leonard, his hands clasped behind his back. “There are clothes in your quarters, doctor.”

“What quarters? Don’t tell me I end up working on a fucking _starship_?”

“Fascinating,” the Vulcan says infuriatingly, his voice modulated – like he happens upon strange, naked men outside his quarters most days. Or nights. Still, Leonard’s grateful he’s not going to get beaten on or chased. If he can further convince this guy he’s harmless, he’ll just hide out till he jumps home.

He thinks about Joss alone in bed where he left her, feels a pang of guilt, and wonders, when his crazy gene pool’s done with toying with him, whether he’ll go back there, or some other place. It’s too much to hope he’ll end up in his present, in his apartment, he knows that.

Leonard sees panels to one side of the living area he hopes might contain clothes and thinks about whether he can push his luck and go explore, but the Vulcan’s moved to a console set on a shiny work-surface, and before Leonard can stop him, he’s saying:

“Computer – locate Doctor Leonard McCoy.”

“Doctor Leonard McCoy is in his quarters,” the smooth, female mechanical voice answers almost immediately. Then there’s a pause. “In addition, Doctor Leonard McCoy is on deck five…”

“Computer – stop.” The Vulcan glances at Leonard while he continues, “Delete query and subsequent search from files – authorization code: Alpha one three Alpha one four Delta Alpha.”

“Affirmative – file deleted.”

“I am Commander Spock, doctor.”

Spock turns to Leonard and points to a screen at the far end of the room. “My clothing is in drawers to the right. We are of a similar build and you will find undergarments in the top drawer which will prove comfortable. Once you are, as you humans say, ‘decent’, you may ask me questions. You no doubt have many.”

“You’re not kidding.”

+++

“Will you _please_ sit down?” Leonard grumbles. Spock’s pants itch but no way he was going to wear another man’s underpants.

“Is your ill-temper caused by hunger, Doctor? I can provide nutrition from the replicator – pulled pork in a bun I believe is your favorite, as you you’ve often said – ‘comfort’ food?”

“You don’t seem concerned that there are _two_ McCoys on this tin can.”

“Negative – concern is an emotion and I have experienced many unusual phenomena and life forms over…” Spock hesitates, “time. I expected your presence since I am aware of your genetic impairment and have some knowledge to draw on of your past.” Leonard nods. His older self knew what he was about. “You are agitated, doctor. I will enlighten you. ”

“Damn _right_ I’m agitated. This isn’t my past so it must be the future where I’ve clearly lost my mind if I’m now working in space – tell me the date.”

“To reveal the date would serve no purpose other than to satisfy curiosity. Perhaps if you tell me when you have time-traveled _from_ I will be in a position to confirm or deny your theory?”

Leonard wonders if Spock’s trying to irritate him on purpose, although, of course, that would be totally il-fucking-logical…

“2252.”

“As you have postulated, you are in your future, Doctor McCoy.”

Christ – well this is a first. Of course he suspected, and he can’t help wondering if this forward jump’s connected with the revelation while he was in bed with Joss, that he’s done it once before. Was it just coincidence?

“But why? Why now?” It’s a pointless question – he doesn’t know why he jumps back either.

“I will explain as best I can, but first, since we cannot know how long you will remain in this time, it is logical to make provision for any potential subsequent visitations while we are in a position to do so. I will set an access code to the computer in order that, should you return, the computer will alert me that there is a second McCoy on board, and guide you to my quarters, thus enabling me to conceal you.”

“Visitations? You make me sound like a saint or somethin’”

“Doctor McCoy, from my knowledge of having served with you, one cannot accurately describe you as a ‘saint’.”

Is that a quirk around the corners of Spock’s mouth? A Vulcan with a sense of humor - what kind of a goddamned Vulcan is this anyway?

 

+++

 

 _Atlanta: 2253 – Leonard is 27_

The scan show’s the baby’s a girl. Joss trembles, looks at Leonard for reassurance. This wasn’t the boy she’d been expecting, the one she saw.

Leonard turns away and says: “A baby girl…” He knows now Joss is scared this one will die when it jumps, like the others, because she’d believed they were _supposed_ to have a son.

When the nurse leaves the room, he watches Joss slip into her shoes, helps her with her coat.

“This one will be okay, I can feel it in my bones, sugar. Maybe she’s not a jumper, the gene doesn’t always pass on, we know that.”

“But it was a boy I saw, Len. I’m scared.”

It’ll be another month before they can safely test the baby and run a genetic profile, work out with any accuracy if she’s gonna be okay. The problem is, the test is a standard one and won’t show if she has the errant gene – that can’t be done until after she’s born; so yeah, he’s scared too.

Leonard drives her home, says he’ll call later and she should get some rest.

Then he punishes himself for putting them both through the inevitable heartache again, by returning to the hospital in a daze, searching his medical PADD for an empty side room.

He locks the door, applies a local anaesthetic and does what he should have done years ago. He cuts off the supply of fucked up, McCoy sperm so the nightmare, the jumping ends here, with him.

 

+++

 

 _Atlanta: 2254 – Leonard is 27_

Leonard wonders when this feeling of wanting to cry all the damn time will leave him.

He’s never wept with joy before – sure, he’s cried hot, angry tears more than once in his time, cried for his, Joss’ lost children, but this – his eyes are like dams, holding back a huge body of water and if he lets it go, surely he’ll drown his precious Joanna, his baby girl.

All of four hours old, she’s asleep in the center of the bed in the fetal position, Leonard guarding her while Joss takes a shower. His large hand covers almost the entire length of her back, the width of her tiny shoulders.

He’s seen and held many newborns, and while it’s not easy for even the most hardened professional to remain entirely disassociated during a birth, this experience was… it was like he took his first breath with Joanna, saw the world for the first time when she blinked at him.

It was an uncomplicated, quick labor – and it’s fair considering what Joss has been through to get here. In the moment he held Joanna for the first time, his heart healed and shattered all at once. For all of his paternal instinct, for all of his immediate, unadulterated love for this tiny creature that was undoubtedly part of him, part of Joss and yet entirely herself, Leonard knows that this isn’t why he’s here, this isn’t his life purpose.

He doesn’t know where this knowledge comes from, but when Joss whispered to him, half an hour after the birth, once they’d been left alone for the first time, “Len, it’ll be time soon, like we agreed?” and she held his hand, he’d nodded.

He leans on the bed, lies down behind his daughter, curves around her. Fuck – that word – and he knows, _understands_ why Joss wanted this so much.

He presses his mouth to the base of Joanna’s neck, inhales her scent, runs the tip of his nose over dark, thick hair, a comical swirl still a little crusty from the birth, and he prays, though he doesn’t believe in any kind of deity, that she isn’t a jumper – that she’ll stay put and isn’t displaced and wandering like he is, pulled and sent away by genes, by emotion, by _something_.

He wanted it to end with him, but now, looking at her, even knowing what she’ll have to go through, if not herself, then with any children she may have, knowing the errant gene will continue into the next generation, he can’t regret her being here.

They’ll have to wait a month before he can run the test needed, although, he thinks with a tremble, _he won’t be here_. He’ll have to make arrangements with the pediatricians – time enough for that, now he’s got to memorize every little detail of her. He’s got the holovids already, his comm crammed full, but they won’t give him this, not the scent of milk, the newness, the softness of her skin, the sensation of her fists wrapped in his giant’s hands.

“I’m not gonna cry, baby girl,” he whispers into her shoulders, “and I’ll be back, when I’m well, when I’ve stopped jumping. I’m not leavin’ you, just going away for a while and I’ll write you – mom will keep the messages, I know. She’ll show you one day. But I love you like I didn’t know I could love nothing. Your daddy loves you. That’s why I’m going. We figured it wasn’t right for you to have your daddy disappearing on you – being gone when you needed him. Mommy’s here, and you won’t be alone.”

“Len…”

Leonard looks up, bleary eyed from his containment of tears and stands when Joss walks into the room. He slips his hands under Joanna’s feather light form, pulls her to his chest and drinks her in one last time. He glances at Joss in anguish. She looks refreshed, but agony and ecstasy play on her fine features as she contemplates her husband’s last moments with their daughter.

“Hi,” he grates out and looks down at Joanna’s cherry lips that are pursing as if she’s feeding in her sleep. “She jus’ slept, she was fine. Enjoy your shower?”

She nods, reaches for her bag and pulls out her comm. “Let me take a holo of the two of you.”

Leonard shakes his head. “I don’t think I can…”

She rests her hand on his arm. “Yes you _can_ , Len. I’ll keep it safe and you can let me know when you’re ready. I’ll send it.”

She takes a couple of pics and then it’s time.

Joanna’s stirring and he knows he has to go before her blue eyes flicker open and maybe he’ll change his mind, break down or something. He stretches out his arms and offers their daughter to Joss, knowing he’ll never again feel this same weight in his hands, if he’ll ever see her in the flesh again.

“I’m sorry, Joss,” he croaks. He can feel her tears on his cheek when she leans into him although her arms are occupied, shielding their daughter from him. Because he lied.

“‘s okay,” she whispers. “Let me know where you are and, try and get some sleep soon.”

 _Thank you for Joanna_ , Leonard wants to say, but daren’t speak in case he loses it and jumps, proving irrevocably why he can’t be a part of their daughter’s life; so, he just walks out the door.

He pulls out a vial of Drink Me from his inside pocket and knocks it back while wobbly legs carry him to the lift.

It’s not until two hours later, once he’s officially handed over his apartment and informed the storage company that they can take his stuff, until he’s re-read the Starfleet brochure on his PADD, only once he’s in the back of the cab heading for the train station – that Leonard allows himself to collapse down on his side, across the back seat, and let the dam break.

It feels like he might never stop crying and that he might drown in a pool of his own tears.

 

+++

 

 _2253: Atlanta – Leonard’s (9)_

Leonard thinks maybe he passed out. He daren’t open his eyes. but he knows it’s late, the way it’s cooler, like it’s gotten dark. He’s been listening out for voices for some minutes, but everywhere’s quiet.

He remembers swimming, flailing about, swallowing down great mouthfuls of ice-cold, brackish water as he tried to get away from the yelling and panic and crying.

His cousin’s gone – he tried to save him, but David let go though Leonard had pleaded, begged, _insisted_ he hold on.

Leonard’s shivering, eyes squeezed shut, hiding. He doesn’t know where everyone else has gone and he can’t remember how he got to dry land.

Maybe he’s suffering from shock – and that’s why he can taste sick in his mouth, why his throat burns. Leonard’s learned lots of things, from asking his daddy – when he’s allowed to sit in the big chair in the office – learned how when people, animals are scared, sometimes they puke or poop themselves, so they can be lighter and run away. But he feels like he’s swallowed rocks, not just water, the way he’s rooted, can’t move or look and see where he is.

He feels around at his feet, touches pine needles, damp earth. He pushes himself into the solidity behind him and winces at the prickly roughness against his bare skin. He doesn’t remember taking off his clothes, but then he doesn’t remember much other than the look of disbelief on his cousin’s face, when the lake had folded around his cousin’s pale skin for the last time – the image seared to his eyelids – like the ghost image of lightening.

 _Please let it be a dream, please let me wake up, I’ll be good, I will._

What if it really happened and David truly is gone?

He can hear himself crying, he can hear a dog barking but everything’s so far away…then he hears a woman’s voice at the same time as a bright light shines on his face, making him cover his eyes and head, pull his knees up to his chin.

“You okay?” the soft voice says. “I heard you crying.”

Leonard squints open one eye and make out a slim woman silhouetted behind the flash light.

He shivers, doesn’t answer.

“Come on, sweetheart, you’re hurt, let me help you.” Her voice is melodic, soothing, and he wants to go to her, let her take care of him, but he brings an arm over his head, dips his face to his knees again, shuts her and everything out. “You’re hurt – you wanna come inside where it’s warm. I’ll make you some cocoa?”

He peeks, sees she’s lowered her flashlight, come closer so he can smell her perfume, tangerine and peach, homey and safe.

He doesn’t recognise her, knows he shouldn’t talk to people he doesn’t know but he’s scared and she seems so kind.

She crouches down in front of him, raises a hand towards him but doesn’t touch him.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m Jocelyn,” she says, all soft and warm, and just like that, he knows he can trust her.

“McCoy,” he whispers.

He sits upright when her mouth falls open, she stands up and steps away from him like he’s said something real amazing when all he’s done is told her his name.

“Who’s your daddy?” She asks, her hand on her forehead, her voice all trembly. She’s staring at him with big, blue eyes, just like his Gram’s.

“He’s Doctor McCoy,” Leonard says, “d’ya…d’ya know hi—?”

He doesn’t finish, never finds out if she does, his head snaps back then forward. He gasps for breath, feeling real hot, like there’s something burning in his belly and, he forgets he’s not wearing anything and staggers to his feet.

The last thing he remembers is the woman’s bright features. She’s smiling a big smile, like he’s someone she knows and she hasn’t seen him for a long time, and he can hear his heart beating loud and oh no, he’s gonna puke again…

It’s like he’s falling out of a tree, being pulled down into the lake again, and he doesn’t understand, but he’s glad it wasn’t real, and in a second he’ll wake up, be home, be safe and his cousin will be alright after all because, this was just a dream.

on to part 6 


	6. 6

**Part 6**

 **"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.  
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."  
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.  
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here." **

 

 _Riverside: late August, 2255 – Leonard is 28, Jim is 22_

 

Leonard  
Leonard hates Riverside.

A touch of Fall is coloring the trees and it’s muggy, _like home_ , he thinks – sarcasm and irritation his default mode these days. It’s an alien landscape, all flat, and he feels like a carbuncle protruding from its surface. Nevertheless, he’s sure he’s done the right thing coming here, despite the discomfort – he’s jumped to Iowa many times, propelled by lord knows what, so why question the compulsion to come here in the present, bide his time till he starts at the academy, rather than move to San Francisco. He’s damned chaff in the winds of time.

He hasn’t signed the papers yet, needs to think on it more, and being here will help. He wonders if he’d have ever considered this an option had he not known about his other self on the starship, when he jumped forward that first time. He’s curious, wants to watch himself ‘make’ these decisions, work out how an aviophobe can ever come to bring himself to work in space.

Riverside is somewhere he needs to pass through to get to some other place. He’s dumped himself here – soon he’ll move on. If he remembers that he doesn’t fit in, he’ll keep up his motivation to make a new start.

And of course, it’s where Jim was born – where Leonard first met him, according to what Jim told him. This is where it began and he’ll maybe figure out an ending here too. Meanwhile, Leonard volunteers long shifts at the local hospital, keeps himself busy in the labs they’ve allowed him workspace in, treading water, hoping he won’t drown of loneliness.

Leonard uses public transport; he can’t drive since he can’t predict when he’ll jump and he’s frightened of causing accidents so, once he’s made his way here on the train, he sinks a ton of credits into long cab rides in the country, the money from the sale of his grandma’s home still keeping him, though it won’t last.

He tells the driver he wants to find an old farm, belongs to the Kirks and, of course, George is a household name so the cab driver knows exactly where Leonard means, plenty of tourists wanting the same experience.

Unlike his older self, he’s never been here before, though he somehow recognizes the gates at the end of the track. Leonard tells the cab driver he’s going to be at least a couple of hours and he’ll comm him.

It’s late afternoon and clouds are few and far between. He knows something’s brewing, he can read the signs, and a shudder passes through him like a premonition, déjà vu, something.

Despite the faint, warm wind, Leonard zips up his hoodie, throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, waits for the cab to disappear out of sight and tries the gate. Mercifully it’s open, but then he’s not surprised either – away from the city, folk aren’t so careful about security. He walks up the long, long track for at least twenty minutes, can’t see the farmhouse, and then stops dead.

He closes his eyes, reaches for some kind of inspiration and then steps off the track into a meadow, heading straight into the long grass, enjoying the feel of it on his hands as he walks through, the swish, the grasshoppers leaping out of his way. Then he catches sight of a tree in the distance, and why this one should catch his eye rather than any other, he surely doesn’t know, so he stops again, pulls out a Starfleet towel he found in a thrift shop and treads down an area around him so he can lie down.

He sets the alarm on his comm for an hour later, pushes it into his jeans’ pocket and stretches out, staring up into the firmament until his eyes flutter shut and he sinks into oblivion.

+++

He wakes up from another dream about Jim and jumps to his feet in rage, shaking his hand to try and get rid of the pain. Fucking idiot for not putting on some insect repellant before he set out, but then when he brings his inflamed knuckle to his mouth to soothe the site of the sting, he stops like he’s been thrown into a body of ice cold water, such is the force of remembering.

It all comes back: he remembers with a cry, _remembers_ Jim when he was a kid and the bee sting. Leonard collapses onto his ass, resting his head on his knees as the tears begin to fall, soaking through the denim, and he’s not sure if it’s relief or fear that he should come to this place, as if he’s following some hidden direction from someplace else; like there are powers controlling his every move, and despite the retching sobs he feels a calmness he’s never experienced before.

Jim, he thinks, it’s always been Jim. He has to, _will_ get back to Jim and although he won’t search for him, knows that’s not how it will unfurl, he knows that if he just listens to his subconscious, his heart, he’ll end up in the right place and the right time and they’ll meet again.

 

+++

 

 _Riverside: September, 2255 – Leonard is 28, Jim is 22_

Leonard  
Leonard’s drunk and hiding out in the shuttle restroom. He shouldn’t mix the Drink Me with alcohol but fuck, he’s so scared and he doesn’t want to jump mid-flight, so he’ll willingly deal with the inevitable nightmares brought on by mixing the two. He hasn’t been on a shuttle since his Mom died in the crash a few years ago but he’s got to do this. He needs to prove to himself that bad things don’t always happen to him, and that if he can overcome this terror, he’ll make it to San Francisco and he can make his new start. He can reboot Leonard Horatio McCoy, failed father, failed husband, failed son, and failed friend.

He pushes past the flight attendant and sways to the only free seat on the shuttle, collapses into it and struggles with the safety belts. He can’t fucking believe that Starfleet don’t upgrade these pieces of rusty sh—mid rant, he stops dead.

“I think these things are pretty safe…”

Jesus – it’s _Jim_.

 

+++

 

Jim  
Bones! It’s been almost two years since he walked out – of all the places to bump into him again.

Bones, naturally, looks as surprised as Jim feels, stinking of booze, looks like he hasn’t had a shave in a month. Jim fights back the joy, aware that many eyes are on them, and any doubt that he had that he’d not feel anything if he ever saw that grouchy face again is dispelled the minute Bones hands him a flask with a look in his eye that says ‘later – we’ll talk later’.

+++

They’ve been allocated rooms at different ends of the campus – Bones has one on his own, while Jim’s sharing with a couple of other cadets, but he doesn’t bother checking in to his; that can wait, everything else can wait. There’s so much to say on the walk to Bones’ room that neither of them knows where to begin. They’re a little awkward around each other for sure, but once they’re through the door Bones turns to Jim with a look of anguish on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, dropping his bag to the floor.

Jim feels, fuck, he doesn’t know how he feels, disbelief, worry that something else will go wrong, but mostly – how can this _be_? How can they have bumped into each other again after all this time? What if he hadn’t met Pike? What then?

“Bones, I…” Jim glances down at his feet.

“Me and Jocelyn, my ex, it’s over, Jim. It was over before that night really.”

“I should have given you a chance to explain,” Jim says, clears his throat.

“You weren’t meant to, Jim. Fuck, it’s a long story… and I’ve got a kid now, though I’m not supposed to see her. You any idea what you’re letting yourself in for, even damn well talking to me?”

Jim steps closer, brings a hand up to Bones’ rough jaw, blood roaring in his ears, and his heart breaks a little when he sees how Bones eyes don’t seem to want to meet his though he does lean a little into Jim’s touch; then he pulls away and Jim gulps, watches as Bones searches through the side pocket of his luggage.

His shoulders are slumped, eyes wary, and he brings a closed hand up to Jim’s eyes.

“I kept this,” he says, opening his hand.

They both look at the little toy Jim thought he’d lost – _Bones_.

Jim can’t speak for a moment, his throat tight, his tongue frozen and Bones waits for a reaction; and Jim gets it, realizes _this_ is the man, the version of Leonard McCoy he knows, the shorter hair, the tired eyes, the one that came back to him as a kid all those times, the one who was always there. And for once, their situation seems reversed – it’s always been Bones who was the strong one, holding Jim’s hand, but it looks like it’s _his_ turn to be the life-belt for a while.

“It’s us, Bones – it’s gonna be okay, trust me.” And before the idiot can protest, Jim’s pressed his mouth to those beautiful, plum colored, chapped lips, swallowing every moaned protest and grumble, twining his limbs around Bones so he can’t escape and they kiss and kiss until Jim loses all sense of time and it’s just them, Jim and Bones, like it was always meant to be.

 

+++

 

 _The Enterprise: date unknown, Spock: age unknown, Leonard: is (29)_

“Don’t turn round!” Leonard snaps at the blue-clad back. He nips behind the screen dividing the bedroom from the living quarters and says, “You got anything’ll fit me, something will save me a red face?”

“I fail to see why you persist with concealing yourself, doctor. It is not, after all, the first time I have seen you unclothed.”

Leonard’s rummaging through Spock’s drawers. “Dammit, Spock, do you even own any other clothes than your uniform?” Not for the first time, Leonard wonders if Spock just has a wicked sense of humor and is fucking with him – would it kill him to stow some of the other Leonard’s clothing in his quarters for the ‘visitations’?

“My uniform is all I require,” Spock says thoughtfully. “I have a robe for meditation, and Starfleet issue clothing for recreational activities and ceremonial events.”

“What about shore-leave?” Leonard pulls on a set of black sweats and walks round the screen to face Spock who’s standing, hands clasped behind his back, his default impassive expression gracing his features. Yeah, Spock doesn’t fool him – that’s the best case of concealed enjoyment Leonard’s spotted so far. Spock can control his emotions, but not the twinkle in his eye—pointy eared…

“I do not take shore-leave, doctor.”

“Oh, yeah, right—that would be ‘illogical’.”

“Not at all. It is indeed logical to rest; it is merely my preference not to. Indeed, I find focusing on other areas of research in my free time as restorative as—”

“—A week on the beach; yeah, spare me Spock.”

“Do you wish to know what date it is, doctor?”

Dammit, how many times does he have to tell Spock? The bastard just likes to annoy him…“No I fucking don’t – we’ve been through this before. I don’t know how I got here – travelling forward is so rare, I like to hide out.”

“You have explained this on previous occasions. I am well aware that knowing the date causes you concern. It is an unfortunate affliction.”

“Damn right. If I know what the date is, I’ll know I’m still alive at a certain time, which means I don’t know I’m alive at a _different_ time – fuck, my life’s gone through the rabbit hole and that’s the truth.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “An interesting analogy, doctor. You are alluding to the popular childhood book, Alice in Wonderland, if I’m not mistaken, in which rules of logic and physical law are subverted for the amusement of the reader.”

“Are you tellin’ me you were _amused_ , Spock?” Yes, Leonard can totally tease too.

“Negative. Amusement is an emotion and this would not be a motivation for engaging in reading matter. My mother, on the other hand, was a devotee of Lewis Carroll and read me both Alice novels when I was a child.”

“Well I never! Your mum, a Vulcan, a fan of Lewis Carroll.”

Spock blinks at him. “Doctor?” Spock looks at his feet, up on his coffee table, and the Vulcan’s eyes, he fancies, narrow almost imperceptibly; but it could be a trick of the light. He keeps his feet firmly planted.

The light flashes on the comm unit. Leonard’s heart flips and lands with a thump when he hears – Jim!

“ _Spock! You coming down here or not, I need_ —” But Spock’s leapt to the unit and turned it off.

“That was Jim,” Leonard says glaring at Spock. “He’s _on this ship_? Why didn’t you tell me, dammit?”

Spock smoothes his sleeves. “I do not wish to be tardy, doctor.”

“Well, I’ll be damned…Jim. What rank is he? _Tell me_.”

“That would involve knowledge about the future. We are clear this is not desirable.” Spock moves to the doors.

The _annoying_ , logical—

“Go to your shift, Spock, I’ll amuse myself by going through your ‘fascinating’ possessions until the Powers that Be decide to send me home. Oh, and if I’m in bed when you come back – you take the couch. Jim’s on this ship and I’m an old-fashioned kinda guy.”

And Spock glides out through the doors leaving Leonard to ponder how the hell Jim Kirk ever gets to serve on the same ship as he does.

 

+++

 

 _San Francisco, 2256: Jim is 23, Leonard is 29_

Leonard  
Sarek’s lecture’s on first contact missions as a diplomat is over and he found it more interesting than he expected – not that he’ll let on to that fact.

“Damn, I can’t wait to get out there,” Jim says, his eyes shining.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Leonard tries for nonchalant but his heart’s hammering dangerously at the thought of the _blackness_. He hurriedly knocks back a vial of Drink Me, Jim’s eyes following his movements.

“And he hasn’t replied to your emails?”

“Not as such.” They emerge on the steps and Leonard turns his head to look at Jim squinting in the sun. “Who was that woman?”

“The one in the strange dress, the one who looked like a chess piece or something?”

Leonard laughs, “Yeah, that’s the one, her.”

“That’s his wife, Amanda Grayson.”

“But… I thought Vulcans didn’t go in for marrying outside – how the fuck do you know this stuff, Jim?”

Jim gifts him one of his lazy grins. “Back of cereal packets, Bones.” Yeah, more like mad hacking skills, but Leonard lets it go. “I’m sure there was a ‘logical’ reason for their marriage,” Jim air-quotes. “And you know something else? They had a kid – a hybrid Vulcan/human called Spock – how about that?”

 _What?_ Sarek’s Spock’s father? Spock’s only half Vulcan?

“Well I’ll be damned…” He wonders how a human can even begin to adapt to life with a Vulcan, to give up emotion, intimacy.

“You should talk to her – if _she_ can melt the old boy’s heart, maybe she can weave her magic on your behalf? Get in through the side door.”

Leonard pauses before they walk into the canteen. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a fucking genius?”

Jim winks at him. “First time today… _fuck_!”

It’s a reasonable reaction considering Leonard, who isn’t generally one for public displays of affection, has pulled Jim close by the front of his uniform and is kissing him hard. “Don’t mention this to anyone or I’ll be forced to kill you, but did I ever tell you I love your scrawny ass?”

“First time today…” Jim laughs into Leonard’s ear then ducks to avoid having his ear cuffed. “Hey! Mixed messages much!”

+++

So now having emailed Amanda, since Sarek’s not answered his repeat new mail – he’s been fobbed off by another automated reply - Leonard is outside Sarek and Amanda’s modest rooms at the Vulcan Embassy. He glowers at the Vulcan body-guard.

“I have an appointment to see Mrs...erm…Sarek,” he says stupidly. He’s discussed with Jim what might be a suitable form of address, but Jim had been as unsure as he was. Hey, at least he’s resisted saying ‘Mrs. Unpronounceable’ so he adds, “Amanda Grayson.”

The body-guard’s eyes darken – it could be a trick of the light. Leonard’s focuses his entire will on staying calm. Since he’s in his reds, he can’t drink, so he’s taken back to back vials of the Drink Me, much to Jim’s annoyance; because Jim had maintained there was some kind of anniversary coming up that night and they _had_ to celebrate and okay, _’fine, you’ll have to blow me and I’ll make it up to you’_ ; and fuck – this has to work, it really does.

The Vulcan speaks into his communicator, listens, snaps it shut and keys in the code for the door. Leonard turns his back politely until the door swishes. “Thank you kindly,” he says, his voice rich with sarcasm.

He walks into a small, dark hallway, and waits for his eyes to adjust. It’s stiflingly warm in the apartment, no doubt to reproduce Vulcan’s atmosphere. He hears movement to his right and turns to see Amanda Grayson, tiny, formally dressed in long, stiff robes that seem to swamp her. Her eyes are bright with welcome and her lips twitch – she’s obviously practiced at concealing her emotions but, as she extends both hands towards him, there is no doubting the pleasure in her eyes. He smiles readily and clasps her hands.

“Doctor McCoy!” she says. “It’s most pleasant to meet you!”

“Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“How could I not? Your email moved me.” She indicates for him to follow and they sit on high backed chairs facing each other. The room is devoid of all personal touches.

“Well, I appreciate it. I received another automated reply before the lecture.”

“I think, doctor, or can I call you Leonard—?” He nods. “Sarek is difficult to reach due to his position. I am sure he would find your situation interesting. He has spoken to me of the Det’hnih’di on numerous occasions and I, of course, can arrange a meeting. I think, “she leans forward and whispers, “his private secretary is a little over zealous in his wish to shield my husband from unwanted approach. You did the right thing contacting me. I admit, I was particularly intrigued that you say you know something of my son…have you met?”

Leonard hesitates. “In a manner of speaking, yes – though not in this time.” Leonard’s aware of how strange this must sound so adds, “I apologize for being cryptic, ma’am, I’m unused to discussing my condition with more than a few trusted friends and I reveal little even then. It’s best people discover the paths of their own lives when they should, not through my temporal experiences which, it has to be said, make little sense to me.” Amanda doesn’t interrupt him so he continues, “It’s best you don’t mention me to him when we meet – I’m not at liberty to explain why, but—”

“I understand, Leonard,” she says.

“He speaks highly of you.” Well, _that’s_ an exaggeration; what he’s noticed is an extra quirk of the eyebrows in future Spock, but Leonard never forgets his southern charm – when it suits the occasion. “He told me how you read Lewis Carroll to him as a child.”

“Ah,” she nods, half closes her eyes. “I always wanted Spock to keep in touch with his human side. He’s had no contact with his father for some years, since he refused a position at the Vulcan Science Academy, and it causes me enormous pain.”

Leonard’s impressed despite himself; the Science Academy is well known even on Earth. “You still have contact?”

“We do. Sarek has not forbidden it – not that,” she raises her eyebrows, “I would listen.”

And right there, Leonard sees where Spock must have got his rebellious streak, the one that had him flip the Vulcan bird at his daddy. He huffs out a low laugh and watches the attendant bring in lemon tea for them both.

“It’s one of my pleasures when I am home,” Amanda explains. “It simply doesn’t taste the same with Vulcan water, or perhaps, it’s the company.” Leonard cocks his head in a ‘could be’ gesture. Amanda waits for the attendant to leave before she continues. “In some ways, Leonard, you and I, we are both living between worlds. I, between Terran values and Vulcan ways, you, between the past and the present. We are both privileged, seeing things others have not seen, being a party to knowledge so few can have; but it is also a curse – the loneliness on occasion. Do you find that?”

Leonard gulps, thinks about this woman surrounded by stoic faces, her tenderness and empathic nature falling on stony soil.

“Yes, Ma’am – can be…”

“But I have a surprise for you, Leonard: I wouldn’t have it any other way. The many adjustments I’ve needed to undergo, they were, _are_ worthwhile. Spock, on the other hand may have suffered and I am not at peace with that. Maybe I never will be.” She sets down her cup, folds her hands on her lap. Suffered? But Leonard thinks it would be rude to probe.

“Leonard, I am sure I can put your case to my husband. I can see you have a good heart, and from reading between the lines of your email, that you have suffered much.”

She leans slightly towards him. “I am very excited at the prospect of his helping you – I would love for you to have a happy ending!” She claps her hands, like a little girl who’s just unwrapped a birthday gift; then she looks sheepish and glances over her shoulder.

“I get a little carried away and undignified when I’m on Earth for a few days – Sarek teases me that the ‘bad influence of unfettered emotion pollutes me’.” She smiles fondly even as she attempts to impersonate her husband’s voice. “He’s so funny sometimes.”

Leonard’s not convinced but he can’t help smiling at her charming behavior.

“I can see you have a good heart, Leonard, and you trusted me with much when you wrote me how you must have suffered, or lost through your affliction.” Then adds, “Have you read Alice in Wonderland, Leonard?”

He raises an eyebrow, thinks human women, no matter where you put them, still have a tendency to come up with remarks out of leftfield. “Yes, it’s crazy stuff.” He laughs, “True to life you might say. My Gram used to read it to me when I was a kid.”

“‘I’m mad, you’re mad, we’re all mad!’” Amanda quotes with a small smile.

Leonard beams when he remembers the line. “Your husband is one lucky man, Ma’am,” he says, rising when she does.

“Thank you, Leonard; I can see you are the consummate southern gentleman. That young man in the lecture theatre, the one with the blond hair, he’s very lucky to have you.”

Leonard feels himself color, dammit. Nothing seems to get past this woman. He recalls Jim’s whispered _’Come on, Bones, no one will see’,_ and wishes he had slapped his hand away.

He takes Amanda’s hand and kisses it gently. “Now don’t be telling that to anyone who knows me or I’ll lose my scary reputation, Ma’am.”

Her laughter is, Leonard fancies, a little rusty, but it’s light and happy and grateful.

“Expect a communication from my husband shortly. He’s always trusted my instincts – although, “she dips her voice, ”if people knew that he’d lose _his_ scary reputation!”

Leonard makes to leave and she walks with him to the hallway. “One more thing, Doctor McCoy,” she says, as the body-guard steps aside for him. “I have a token of my esteem,” and she presses a package into his hand.

+++

“Please tell me you’ll never wear it!” Jim chuckles, looking at the strange, hand-knitted, shapeless sweater on their bed, the gift wrap tossed aside.

“Shut up, thrift shop whore,” Leonard says with affection, “and I won’t, but not for why you think.” Tears prick at his eyes. “I’m not risking losing this sweater like snake-skin on the side of the road if I jump while I’m wearing it. No way. This was made by a very special lady and it’s following me to the ends of the universe.”

 

+++

 

 _The Enterprise: date unknown, Spock – age unknown, Leonard is (29)_

“I trust you are well, doctor.”

Leonard’s wearing Spock’s pjs. While he wouldn’t say he knows Spock very well – he’s not exactly an open book and their situation makes personal details almost impossible – the thought of the Vulcan wearing nightwear just tickles him. Thing is, the thought of Spock sleeping naked is even more incongruous.

He realizes that the number of hours he’s spent with Spock _to date_ (and isn’t that a dumb way to put it?) amount maybe, to one long day. He hasn’t jumped backwards in months, blessedly, and going forward seems to have become the norm. Despite his first leap being brought on by the usual – acute stress – his life with Jim at the academy, with Jim holed up in his room permanently, is pretty much the happiest he’s ever been.

True he’s knocking back the Drink Me like it’s going out of fashion and Jim’s bitched and moaned about the lack of sex, but the elixir doesn’t seem to affect the jumps forward which is leading Leonard to believe that it’s more than his errant biology that has a hand in this madness that is his life. He’s beginning to think these jumps to the future are somehow going to help him find a cure for his affliction. If this is indeed part of some greater plan by the Powers that Be, he wonders whether it has any bearing on why he jumped forward to Joss when he was a kid – it was as a direct result of that confusion, they conceived Joanna.

Most of the time, Leonard and Spock don’t talk that much – in fact, it’s got less and less chatty over the last few times they’ve spent together; mostly he just waits to go back.

All his visits have been over the past few months, in the sense of it always being 28 or 29 year old Leonard who comes here, to this ship. Leonard has done his best to avoid discovering the ship’s name, and he’s succeeded so far. He doesn’t have any idea if, from Spock’s point of view, Leonard visits him over months, years, decades. – and he kind of doesn’t want to know.

Spock changes a little – while he’s always in science blue, his stiflingly hot room alters marginally. Leonard spots new artifacts (or are they old ones rediscovered, unpacked?). He notes when some are missing – is that because they have been broken in an enemy attack, or just that they’ve not been acquired yet?

Sometimes Spock looks a little older but, by how many years, Leonard can’t tell. Vulcans live considerably longer than humans – the lack of frowning, smiling, means that they don’t show signs of aging in the same way, and add to that, a tough skin designed to withstand a desert climate.

Another change Leonard’s noticed despite himself, is the design of the PADDs; subtle differences in their functionality, their speed – Leonard’s considered how long these things take to change, thinks about other items of technology, how communicators have changed, vid screens, over his life-time. Does it take two years, five before a previous design looks out-dated? In the end, as with all of these lines of enquiry, he doesn’t want to know, not in these circumstances. It always comes back to Jim, not wanting to know whether he’s dead or alive ‘at this time’. So he stops looking at the PADDS, not just to avoid newsfeeds, but the date on the bottom of the screen in case he should bring it up by mistake. Spock’s modified one for him, so there are a few novels uploaded, but Leonard can’t concentrate, allows his mind to wander, sometimes thinking about his older self, somewhere on the ship, wondering what he’s up to at a given moment. He’s resisted contacting him up until this point, not wishing to know how old he is, anything too much about his future. And, he doesn’t know if he’s even still alive or indeed still on the ship.

So he lies on Spock’s bony couch and listens to tinkly, Vulcan music and waits to go home.

Spock’s at his desk working.

“I heard from your daddy,” Leonard says finally. He knows the word ‘daddy’ will irritate Spock and somehow he’s starting to enjoy getting up his nose now he knows Spock’s half human. He watches Spock closely for any reaction. Leonard’s noticed that over the individual visits, sometimes Spock ‘shows’ more emotion than others. What Leonard can’t gauge is if this is because Spock’s older and more in ‘control’ of his human side, or older and more ‘at peace’ with his human side, and therefore more willing in certain circumstance, to marginally reveal his emotions. Then again, Spock could be younger, more volatile because he has less control. Hell if he knows – he’s lost count of the number of times he’s used the expression ‘mind-fuck’ in his life.

So, when he mentions Sarek, Leonard decides Spock looks, what, apprehensive? He’s only got an eyebrow raise to enjoy, but hell – it’s something. Spock doesn’t probe, he knows the ‘rules’ after all. Leonard goes on, “He’s agreed to meet me.”

“Fascinating.”

“That’s it? You find that fascinating?”

“Affirmative.”

“You gonna tell me why, dammit?” Shit, he was the one supposed to do the irritating here.

“How did you gain access, doctor?”

“What, you mean you don’t know?” Instinctively, Leonard doesn’t want to mention Amanda’s involvement. Who knows, he may tell Spock about it sometime in the future, in ‘real’ time, but for now, his habit of keeping information to himself will have to stick. He’s only told Jim and even then, only a brief outline of his hour with Amanda. He wants to keep that precious encounter someplace in his heart where no one else can go.

“No, I do not. However, doctor, I do believe that your meeting with Sarek will indeed help you.”

“You do, do you? Well I know you’re not sayin’ anything more, but Spock, I have to tell you, if this doesn’t work, I’m screwed. From what you’ve hinted at, it is essential I complete my training at the academy, that I graduate—”

“My actual word was ‘prescient’, but I find myself agreeing with you doctor. It is of the utmost import you graduate from the academy and, since a condition of that is that you control your time-travelling completely for the safety of those with whom you’ll serve, a favorable outcome to your meeting is preferable.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you agreeing with me is as about as rare as a teat on a boar?”

“While I do not understand the relevance of your simile, I have heard you use it before—” Spock stops himself mid-flow. “My apologies, doctor, allow me to rephrase – it is indeed uncommon that we agree.”

Leonard laughs. “I’ll bet Jim fucking loves it!”

“It would be accurate and not too revealing to state that, on occasion, Jim is rather fond of our ‘disagreements’, while on other occasions he is not.”

“You’re a cagey SOB, Spock – you any good at chess?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. Leonard tries to quell the feeling of joy when he thinks about how the three of them are serving on the ship together. This means that he must have somehow managed to put a cap on the chrono impairment.

“This works, doesn’t it, Spock? It has to or we wouldn’t all be together now on this ship surely?”

“Not at all. It does not follow that simply because you have been unable to affect what has happened in your past, that you will not be able to affect what happens in your future. This situation, my present is, from your point in time, merely a possibility.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why then are you so keen that I _do_ find a cure? I’m just a country doctor, Spock – how can any course of action I follow, in a given moment, be so damned important that you’re worried it _won’t_ happen?”

“As you know, I am limited to what I can reveal, doctor.”

Damn this is frustrating. Spock knows ‘something’. Perhaps it’s a ‘something’ he wants to ensure happens, but it could equally be something he wants to prevent – whatever, it’s an event or decision closely related to Leonard. An event or choice in Spock’s past and in Leonard’s future. Leonard aches to know, to probe, yet he wonders if it’s the _knowing_ that causes the problem in the first place. Things have to happen the way they happen – being fore-warned may result in future altering paradoxes. He rubs the space between his eyebrows and suddenly feels a bond with Spock. In some ways, the poor bastard’s in the same boat as he is, embroiled in conundrums, knowing too much but still working in the dark.

“I gotta find a way of licking this thing,” Leonard says, finally.

“I am aware.”

“I’m convinced that Sarek can help me in ways I haven’t even considered, that it wasn’t mere coincidence that I happened up on his blog entry a couple of years back, that his information about the Det’hnih’di is just the fly at the end of the rod and he can help me get a cure or control in other ways too. And I keep jumping here, Spock. I haven’t been back to the past for months. The connection between me trying to contact Sarek, with this, it feels significant. And I get the feeling that it works out. But it also is possible that it won’t…”

Spock looks like he’s calculating odds, but he doesn’t share his calculations with Leonard. He listens without interrupting while Leonard continues.

“I’ve never been able to change the past, Spock, what makes you think I can have an effect on the future? What if I don’t get this right, will everything, you, this ship, my future self, just cease to exist?”

“I do not know,” Spock says quietly. “We may not indeed be on this same ship in the same way. Some events may occur as they have or they may not. We cannot accurately predict. It is nonetheless essential that you cure your affliction, even before you graduate and be permitted to…” he hesitates. “Since you accept my word that something of import will take place around the time of your graduation, I have no need to convince you of how pressing a matter this is.”

Oh, so now it’s _around the time_ of his graduation, not _after_. Is this a slip up or is Spock playing a great hand here, encouraging Leonard to keep his sense of urgency.

“No, you don’t need to convince me – I’ve gotta find a cure or an absolute control for my own sake too. Do you have any idea the pressure this is putting on my heart? I don’t know how many more years I can take – if I don’t get killed during one of my jumps first, that is. And there’s my daughter too; she has the errant gene and I can’t have her go through the shit I’ve had to put up with. But I’m not going to get anywhere without Sarek’s help. I need to find out at the very least what he knows about the Det’hnih’di, share any knowledge he’s got about how they control their time-travelling, shit – I don’t even know if he knows much at all, but he may be able to give me some leads, how I can trace one of them, or speak to someone else who may know. How am I going to get him onside, Spock?”

“You are aware of the Det’hnih’di?” Spock’s flicker down, then up. “Fascinating.”

“What of it? Can you tell me something more about them?”

“I cannot. You require me to provide strategies for persuasion?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Sarek will share the information he has willingly. He will be inherently fascinated by your situation. But there is more, doctor – he will be able to assist you in your cure in ways that will become apparent. To encourage him to become thus involved, you must make it clear that it is logical for him to assist you. I have some information which will help and for it to be delivered to him will involve a mind meld with you.”

“Now wait! Why can’t you jus’ tell me? Why do the mo-jo on me?”

“In this way, information can be passed on and you will not be exposed, inadvertently, to knowledge that is ‘unnecessary’ and I can assure you that there is no ‘magic’ involved, doctor.”

“I apologize, Spock – it’s just a figure of speech. I’m just nervous about you running around my mind.”

“That is understandable but also unnecessary. In a matter of seconds I can implant a data package in your mind and I will withdraw.”

“So you won’t find out about that time at the academy with Jim, me and the chocolate mousse?”

“I will be most relieved if I do not, doctor.”

“In that case, go ahead. Hell, you’ve seen my meat and potatoes enough times what the hell’s wrong with a little brain nudity among friends too, huh?”

Despite his joking, Leonard’s trembling when Spock sits beside him on the edge of the couch and extends a steady hand towards his face.

 

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	7. 7

**Part 7**

 **"Well, in our country," said Alice, still panting a little, "you'd generally get to somewhere else -- if you ran very fast for a long time, as we've been doing."  
"A slow sort of country!" said the Queen. "Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!" **

_2256– San Francisco: Leonard is 29, Jim is 23_

Leonard  
Leonard’s as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of chairs. Seeing Sarek in the flesh, well it’s like meeting all royalty rolled into one. The guy’s tall and imposing, with chiseled features right off a Roman coin. Now he’s got him to compare to Spock, Leonard realizes Spock’s an open book compared to your average Vulcan. Maybe it’s his human blood, or maybe human ways have rubbed off on him, but…Leonard glances at Jim sitting beside him and clears his throat.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me Mr. Ambassador, I know you are extremely busy.”

Sarek nods. “Who is your companion, Doctor McCoy?”

“I’m Jim, Jim Kirk, sir. McCoy wanted me to help make his case.”

“You have a case, Doctor? My understanding was that you were merely interested in my research.”

“Well, that’s true but I wanted to be able to make a case for your assistance in controlling my disorder.”

“How so?”

Damn, this wasn’t taking the turn Leonard had planned. “Well sir, see I’m interested in the Det’hnih’di sure enough, but there’s more. I was hoping that you’d be able to enlighten me on ways to control my jumping some.”

“By ‘jumping’ I presume you are alluding to your alleged time-travel?”

Alleged? Leonard senses Jim prickle beside him.

“Yes, sir. At the moment I have sporadic, tenuous control over when I travel. Mostly, I want to _prevent_ it happening at all. In most cases, it’s triggered by acute stress, fear or anger – and I jump. If I can anticipate, or forward plan, I can often prevent it from happening, essentially by taking an elixir of my Grandmother’s invention – it’s a tranquillizer of sorts. However, it has unpleasant side-effects, memory loss…” and despite being a medic, this is about _him_ , dammit, Leonard feels himself color, “…impotence and, on occasion, intense nightmares. The elixir is metabolized quickly, and I have had to increase the dose over the past few years.

“There are less desirable methods to control the condition which are not compatible with my field of work: regular tranquillizers, which, those that are more effective leave me drowsy and don’t agree with me; alcohol helps some, and I don’t need to explain why that’s not a good idea. And, I can’t mix. Truth is, nothing works all of the time.”

“What else?” Sarek sounds neither interested nor disinterested, but hell, Leonard’s still here, isn’t he?

He wishes he could have taken a tranquillizer on top of his double-dose of Drink Me but he really doesn’t need to shit into his cadet reds. “I breathe, sir.”

“And that is effective?”

“To a certain extent. Oh, and I run, sir – a lot.”

“Physical activity is meditative.”

“I guess it is.” Fuck his mouth’s dry.

“Therefore, controlling the emotions effectively would be useful.” Sarek thinks a moment. “Have you tried meditation, Doctor?”

“It doesn’t suit me, sir.”

“That is most illogical – you say anxiety is a trigger and meditation is an effective way of controlling the emotions.”

Leonard feels himself getting a little angry here, wants to say what the fuck do Vulcan’s know about emotion anyways when, maybe because Jim can sense his change in mood, he speaks up for the first time.

“If I may, Mr. Ambassador, McCoy is… does not wish to subjugate all his emotions. It’s not the human way. We need to feel in order to have a sense of wholeness.”

“I am familiar with the human attachment to emotions, Cadet Kirk, but in this case if Doctor McCoy would be willing to learn some detachment, it will help.”

“We are aware that Vulcans have highly developed meditative techniques and, if you were willing to share some of those, I’m sure McCoy would rethink, maybe give it a try?”

“I _would_?” McCoy frowns at Jim and when Jim widens his eyes in warning, he takes a breath and adjusts his tone. “I would,” he repeats, looking to Sarek, nodding in case that wasn’t clear.

“It is no concern of mine whether you meditate or not, Doctor. You asked for my guidance and I have given it. I have further questions.”

“Feel free—”

Sarek then questions him about the times Leonard’s jumped – where he’s ended up and McCoy gives him a brief outline of various jumps including his first, aged 9 after the boating accident, his first time seeing Jim, the half dozen times he’s returned to his father’s deathbed but always too late.

“And have you ascertained a pattern to these ‘jumps’ as you call them?”

“They’re nearly always to someone I’m deeply connected to: my father; my Grandmother, and Jim of course.” Leonard watches as Sarek makes a brief note on his PADD.

“Then there are those jumps that make no ‘sense’. An example is the times I jumped to Iowa. It was as if, and I really can’t think of a better way of putting this, it was as if I was _trying_ to meet Jim, that maybe I kept getting it ‘wrong’ somehow, had to keep trying – then I made it.” His voice almost breaks as he says this, and Leonard can feel Jim’s eyes boring into the side of his face.

“What is the nature of your connection to Cadet Kirk?”

“I’m not sure, sir. Well, I’m sure of how it is _now_ , in the present, but I have no idea in hell how it was I landed in that meadow all those years ago, why I should jump there in the first place. In fact, the memory’s only just come back to me in recent months. How could I forget something like that?”

“Are you bonded?” Sarek asks, the question so unexpected Leonard is momentarily struck dumb. How the hell does he explain what Jim is to him, what he is to Jim?

“Yes, sir, we are,” Jim says, his voice even, certain.

Leonard turns to look at him, this kid who surprises him every day, sitting in that chair totally un-intimidated by Sarek’s presence, like he was born to talk to diplomats and Admirals. Jim glances at Leonard and he sees Jim’s eye twitch, like he’s just managed to stop himself winking.

”In the sense that we are committed to each other,” Jim adds. “This McCoy, and an older version of himself, have taken care of me since I was a kid.”

“Fascinating,” Sarek says, “It appears that you have a desire to return to certain times and locations which leads me to conclude that you have more control over your traveling than you realize.”

“Well, yeah, there are places I want to go, but it’s not like I up and decide to visit Jim in say, ’53 and next thing I’m there,” Leonard says with a frown. “I have repeatedly returned to certain events in the past, events that haven’t been favorable. It’s as if I want to _do_ something, change things. The drive to get there seems to work in some ways, but I have no conscious control over where I jump.”

“And have you ever succeeded in changing past events through your intervention, Doctor? You mentioned how you returned to your father’s death-bed.”

“Only when it comes to Jim, sir. Even so, it’s only subtle change – for example, lately I returned to Jim when he was a young adolescent. I knew he would have to endure suffering, there would be a crisis, where he would be…forgive me, sir, I would rather not reveal the details but, the long and the short of it is, I went back and taught him skills, gave him knowledge he needed to deal with…the ‘crisis’. But, sir, I didn’t _decide_ to go back – it’s like…” Leonard grips the arm of the chair as he tries to think how to put it, “I’m ‘pulled’ there by something else…”

“So he can’t change what happened to me, but he has had some success in helping me survive mentally. Like the times he taught me how to fight – so I could stand up for myself around the school bullies.” Jim glances at him again sending a flush through him.

“Yet, Doctor, you were unable to prevent your past self from assisting your father’s death no matter on how many occasions you returned?”

“I always arrived too late, sir. My father ‘always’ died. He contracted pyrrhoneuritus and…” Leonard falters, “…a cure was found months after he died. My older self attempted to return and warn me but, each time he arrived, it was too late or the location of his jump was geographically too far away for him to make it to me in time to stop me turning off the life-support.” Leonard sighs, wishes he had a glass of water because his tongue seems to want to fix to the roof of his mouth. “Sometimes I’m thinking that certain things are meant.”

“It would appear so,” Sarek says to Leonard’s surprise. “It would also appear that you have more control than you realize. Some part of you understands how to steer your movement in time but your conscious connection to this knowledge is crude, reduced to animal instinct. I am certain we can find a way to train your mind so that you can ‘jump’ more effectively.

“As to the pattern, I will need to ask you a great many more questions before the three of us can begin to solve this enigma. Unfortunately, I will have to meet with you at another time. I have a pressing engagement in two point four hours for which I require preparation.

“Meanwhile, I will forward some reading material to you and I will maintain communication. While I do not doubt the veracity of your time-travel – if you could provide me with evidence, I would be most interested.”

“But, Mr. Ambassador—”

“It’s okay, Bones, we’ve got plenty to go on for now and we’ve got all the time in the world,” Jim says rising to his feet and saluting Sarek. Leonard doesn’t move. “Come _on_ , Bones, we really should go…”

Leonard stands up, it’s daring he knows but this is important. He takes a step towards the desk, leans on it and whispers to Sarek, so as Jim can’t hear.

“Sir, I have melded with someone you know and he, this person, has information for you that will help us. He assures me it is of great import and that it will give us some insight into the ‘why’ of all this.”

Sarek’s face is impassive, but he hasn’t interrupted so Leonard continues. “This Vulcan assures me that a mind-meld will ‘deliver’ this information package. At the same time I shouldn’t be made entirely aware of the content. If you give me some more time, sir, you will know what is driving my jumps, because, sir, trust me, it’s not just about where I _want_ to go. It’s Jim – I believe he’s the centre of all this. I don’t have any evidence for that, it’s just a feeling in my bones, but I can’t let him know that because, well, it wouldn’t be right. I need to meet with you again, alone next time.”

Leonard looks over his shoulder at Jim who’s frowning, confused by his secrecy and he feels like shit, hates keeping things from him.

Leonard’s been feeling worse and worse over the past minute; the meeting’s gone on longer than he anticipated, and they’d had to wait half an hour before Sarek could see them and now, damn – his hand flies to his collar, trying to get some air – he lurches away from Sarek’s desk, his chest heaving, sweat prickling his scalp.

He can feel his head emptying like a burst balloon and the room starting to spin and he breathes, yeah he _breathes_ , but fuck it, what more proof can he come up with of how urgent this is?

The room dissolves before him and, the next thing he knows, Sarek and Jim’s faces have gone and everything’s white, particles of light and images swirling around him as if he’s falling through a snow storm, head down, limbs flailing for purchase. He cries out, his voice useless and frail against the roaring in his head, the wind of time screaming around his weak body.

A tsunami surges through him, carrying him, and he flips like a fish in the ocean, spasms of nausea making him retch and heave in protest.

Leonard’s head cracks against a hard surface and he’s landed . Fuck, he thinks, _gotta get up, gotta run_ and mercifully it’s nighttime; he’s in a store front, out of sight. Safe. For now.

 

+++

 

Jim  
Jim stares as Leonard’s uniform crumples to the floor before them, grips his head and leaps to his feet uselessly.

Sarek walks to the front of the desk, picks up the clothing and hands it to him. Jim’s fingers grip the fabric - it’s warm still and he can smell Bones as if he’s still in the room.

“How long will he be absent, Cadet Kirk?”

Jim shakes his head, trembling a little. Whenever he’s witnessed Bones jump it’s always freaked him out; the look of horror, helplessness on his face; and he hates that he can’t stop him. Once Jim tried to grab Bones, as if human contact would somehow abort the jump but, feeling Bones skin dissolve in his hands, the heat of his body evaporate, smelling the sweat and fear just before Bones disappeared through his fingers like water – it’s…

“We have to stop this, sir,” he almost shouts, his voice echoing around them. “He’s gonna get himself killed if this isn’t fixed. It’s only a matter of time.”

Sarek leans over his desk and presses the comm button and speaks in standard for Jim’s benefit: “Serron, I will be unable to attend my meeting. Offer my apologies to Ambassador Gopal and reschedule my meeting with her. Now, Cadet Kirk,” he says, indicating Jim sit down again. “It appears we have a great deal to discuss.”

+++

 

 _Iowa, January 16th, 2251: Leonard is (29)_

Leonard manages to push himself up onto all fours before he pukes, his head lurching at the force of it. He wipes his mouth and staggers to his feet, skulking back in the store’s doorway.

The street’s quiet and he shivers, wraps his arms around himself, considers trying the door but knows he’ll set off the alarms. He presses his nose against the glass and scans the interior for anything he can steal to wear but, it’s a lottery outlet, the numbers for the past draw displayed above the counter beneath a lurid green neon **IOWA POWERBALL** – which hurts his eyes so he looks away. Iowa be damned with its horrific climate. He wonders how the hell he’s going to get out of this in one piece or at least before his dick drops off since it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table. Then, as if he’d rubbed the magic lamp or something, and isn’t that just _peachy_ – he’s been yanked up by the invisible threads controlling him, he’s spinning again and gone.

+++

 

 _Riverside – January 15th, 2251. Jim is 18, Leonard is (29)_

Jim  
Jim’s settled on his couch for a rare evening in. He’s got no one he wants to be with tonight – the most hated date in his calendar – Bones notwithstanding, but he hasn’t seen him in months, and Jim’s getting a niggle in the back of his mind that maybe something bad’s happened to him. He knows Bones’ grandmother jumped and never came back and this is the longest they’ve ever been separated, other than when he was on Tarsus.

He’s not sure what time it is when he wakes to the sound of the TV, some ancient Orion soap shaking the set, and half a glass of bourbon’s slipped from his grip, making the cotton of his t stick to his chest. His mouth tastes like shit, his head’s fuzzy and he’s glad this day’s almost over.

He starts when he hears a knock on his door – no one ever visits Jim and he sure as hell never invites any of his drinking and pool buddies round. Any talking they’ve got to do happens over booze.

Jim saunters to the door, sure it’s just a neighbor gonna ask him to turn the TV down. His jaw almost hits his chest when he sees _Bones_ leaning on the door jam, flecks of melting snow on his shoulders and hair and a grin wider than a harbor on his beautiful mouth.

“Happy birthday, kid,” he drawls and fuck, it’s good to hear that voice, see the goofy eyebrow waggle. Wonders how Bones even knows it’s his birthday, decides he must have seen it somewhere – after all, he’s had time to search out clothing.

“Jesus, Bones, how long you been here?” Jim grabs his arm and drags him into his room, stares at Bones like he’s an apparition. Jim bounces on his heels, like he needs to pee or something, which he totally doesn’t but wouldn’t admit to if he did, since he’s not prepared to let Bones out of his sight just yet.

“Few hours. I’d’ve come sooner but I needed to go see my tailor first.” Bones indicates his clothing with a dramatic sweep of his hands.

“Very nice,” Jim grins. “I’m really liking the pajamas, lime green sneakers and raincoat effect. It’s very…” he searches for one of his friend, Davina’s sayings, she’s always got her nose in the latest, “…fashion forward!”

Bones rolls his eyes. “Yeah, those bags o’ shit dumped outside thrift stores are brim full o’ the finest autumn/winter look,” Bones grins.

Fuck, Bones actually looks happy, Jim thinks, and he hopes it must be because he’s made it to see him.

“You wanna give me your coat, or are you cold?”

“I’ll keep it on, just till my stones come back down outta my body, if that’s all the same to you, kid.”

Jim’s desperate to hug Bones, but the last few times they’ve seen each other, over the past two years, Bones has seemed particularly reticent about touching him. Jim reckons it’s Bones’ natural reaction to Jim’s barely concealed determination to seduce him, remaining unspoken since a few years ago when Jim made every one of Bones’ jumps to him an argument or accusation of some kind. Jim colors at the memories, ashamed that in those days he spoke to Bones much as he spoke to that bastard Frank, when Bones has been the only who’s ever shown he really gives a shit.

And yeah, of late, Jim’s been sure to take every opportunity to appear semi-dressed around Leonard, ‘accidently on purpose’, emerging out of the shower with a poorly draped towel around his hips, licking his lips, faking innocent, and he’s _noticed_ how Bones has looked a little too long at him, eyes flicking away, changed the subject. Yeah, he’s too much of a gentleman to make a move on Jim until he’s of age; he’s said that with every push away, real or in tone for years; and meanwhile, Jim’s fucked or been fucked by scores of others – all of them a rehearsal or as stand-ins for Bones.

Jim pour a drink, ignores the eye-roll that he should even have alcohol in the room, knows _he_ won’t have another drink all night because, birthday or not, Jim’s not having Bones’ disapproval about under-age drinking harshing his new-found high, not now it actually feels like a birthday should.

Jim fetches a glass of tap water, watches Bones knock back the bourbon in two gulps, and sits on the couch a few centimeters from Bones who’s still wrapped in his stolen coat. “You should brush your teeth, Bones, you stink, man.”

Bones nods and saunters to the sink in the kitchenette. “Yeah, that puke cologne o’ mine sure sticks.” He brushes his teeth with Jim’s brush, spitting a few times, running the water from the tap directly into his mouth. “Shit, you been pissing in here again, Jim? What’ve I told you about that?”

Jim smirks. “I hate to go across the hall in the night, you know that. If I’d expected you, I’d have cleaned up.”

Bones scans the room. “Yeah, I’ll make sure and call next time,” he sighs dramatically. “Thing is you’d need at least a month’s notice to get this place looking something less than a hog’s ass.”

Jim laughs. “Fuck I’m just stoked to see you, Bones. I was starting to worry, in case—”

“—Nah, I’m fine, kid, always fine.” But Jim notices how Bones’ eyes flicker to the side briefly, like he’s remembering something he isn’t going to mention.

Bones searches deep in both pockets and pulls out both hands in a fist shape, knuckles up. “Come here,” he says and Jim’s cock twitches at his tone. He strolls the few steps towards Bones and looks at his hands, up at Bones’ arched eyebrow trying to look cool while his heart’s thumping.

“You got me a present?”

“You sound like a kid sometimes, you know that?”

Jim lifts his chin in annoyance then smiles, “I’m no kid, Bones. I’m eighteen as of oh-two-hundred.”

Bones nods at his hand. “Come on, _kid_ , before I get cramp.”

Jim licks his lips while he thinks, then taps the hand to his left and watches eagerly while Bones unfurls it in super-slow motion. There’s a data chip nestled in his palm. Jim takes it carefully, sees the IOWA POWERBALL logo on it and frowns. “What is it?”

“A fuckin’ Cadillac. What the hell do you think it is?”

“But, Bones…” Jim suddenly feels short of breath – this is too much.

“Shut up. There’s got to be some bonus to this goddamn situation.” His words may be severe, but Bones voice is warmer than hot chocolate. He gazes at Jim, lips quirking, waiting for a further reaction.

“Should I check the numbers?” Jim finally says, feeling a little stupid because he just knows there’s no need.

“Up to you, but since I’ve just ‘enjoyed’ one of those rare double-jumps of mine, I think you’ll find your birthday present isn’t a dud.”

“What happened?”

“I up and landed in a store front, saw the winning numbers. Naturally, I wasn’t thinking about lotteries at the time, just the fact that I was naked and it was _snowing_ , but and thanks to my photographic memory, when I then jumped again, back a day, I decided to get some reward for all the shit for once.”

Jim allows the drawled tones to seep through him, transfixed by those fucking amazing eyebrows, doing a little dance number as Bones continues.

“I stole some poor bastard’s credit chip earlier, bought the lottery ticket, dropped the credit chip down a drain ‘case it fell into the wrong hands, and— _oof_!” Bones exclaims when Jim’s got him in a bear hug.

Then he let’s go, drinking in Bones’ amused face. Jim shoulders him – just so Bones knows he’s only guying around; doesn’t think he’s trying to touch in any other way – though, maybe he is that too.

“For the record, the weather’s gonna be shit tomorrow too,” Bones adds drily, pushing his hands back into his coat pockets.

“A double-jump? Seems…well…weird.”

“Like I said, everything’s weird about this – it’s the Powers that Be, Jim.”

Jim’s heard Bones talk about the Powers that Be before, knows it’s a euphemism for the chaotic nature of his time-travelling life, how it sums up how Bones feels manipulated, toyed with by his lot.

“Well, yeah, it’s about time the Bastards that Be delivered for once.”

“I’m not disagreeing there, kid.”

Jim places the chip in the inside pocket of his leather jacket and dives onto the couch, sprawls on his back, one foot on the floor. “Hey, you gonna take that coat off?” He can’t help it, but his voice is husky, knows Bones notices too.

Bones stares at him, unbuttons the coat and drops it on a chair, stands in the middle of the room like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Jim watches him run a hand through his still damp hair and allows his mouth to fall open a little at the sight of Bones arms flexing in the faded, crumpled t-shirt.

“You still cold?” he asks, his voice a slight croak.

“Maybe a little,” Bones says blinking.

“It’s warm over here.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Shall I come over there, then?”

Jim nods, his heart’s sliding up into his throat as he watches Bones saunter towards him, then loom above him until Jim extends a hand which Bones clasps with both of his. Jim shuffles up against the arm rest, and Bones allows himself to be pulled down so he’s sitting in the small area of couch between Jim’s legs. _So this is what a pregnant pause feels like_.His heart thuds when their eyes meet. Fuck it – it’s now or never, so—

“Wanted you for so long,” Jim whispers, his hands finally moving to curl into Leonard’s shirt, clinging to him. “Belong to you—“ Shit, he’s waited almost his whole life.

“Shush, Jim,” Bones’ voice is as quiet as his. “I know…” His eyes are dark as he examines Jim’s face, “I know…” And Jim understands he has to be the one makes the first move to quell Bones’ fears that he might be taking advantage. But he has to know…

“You want me, right? You’re not just feeling sorry for me?”

Bones shakes his head. “Used to, when you were all bashed up and hurtin’, but I’ve learned you can take care of yourself, when it counts. Shit, Jim, you’re a man now.”

Jim closes his eyes, strokes up to broad shoulders, guides him closer so Bones chest presses close. He can hear himself breathing, can smell the bourbon on those lips, so near, can feel each gentle exhalation as he leans closer; and Bones still isn’t touching him with those hands he’s fantasized about in forever, still waiting to be asked in.

In a daze of lust and need, Jim half opens his eyes and brings his lips to that strong, stubbled jaw, plants a gentle kiss, inhaling the other man’s scent, moving to the corner of that precious mouth and shifts his lips so he’s resting them on the slight upward curve.

“Fuck,” Jim sighs, so quiet he wonders whether Bones can even hear him. “Want you so bad…”

“You’ve got me, it’s okay, I’m here.” And finally Bones’ weight sags onto him, anchoring him in place.

The kiss is sweet, gentle, close-mouthed and Jim lets out a disbelieving breath, drops his cheekbone to Bones' chin, just breathes against him while Bones strokes his hair, while Jim mutters against skin he’s wanted to touch, wanted to taste for so long.

“Bones…” he pleads.

And Bones spreads his fingers, supports Jim’s head and makes a tentative move with his tongue, sending a shock of fire through him. Again, Jim just breathes, frightened Bones will maybe change his mind. He opens his mouth, inviting him in and, “Fuck, Bones,” comes out muffled as he thumbs the corners of Jim’s mouth to gain access and his tongue, finally _Jesus_ , touches Jim’s, warm and sure.

Bones pushes Jim’s leg further up the back of the couch, nudges the foot on the floor with his so he’s got more room and leans harder across Jim’s body, his hand on the arm-rest while he contemplates him. He can feel hardness against his thigh, and for the first time in his entire sexual experience, Jim feels self-conscious, worried he’ll disappoint. His arms flop uselessly to his side and he watches Bones rake his eyes over him; wonders, hopes if he’s being compared to an older version of himself that Bones has intimated about. From little snippets of information, he believes they’ll meet in ‘real’ time; one day he’ll have Bones with him – he won’t disappear after minutes or hours. He hates his multi-tasking mind, wonders why the fuck he’s not just sinking deep into every moment when their time together’s so precious, so fleeting.

Jim arches off the couch when Bones rests warm fingers on his stomach where his t’s ridden up. “Bones,” he says, looking down at those hands that have held him so many times when he’s cried, known when to hold back, have clenched when Jim’s raged against the universe, that removed that bee sting the first time they met. Jim clasps them in his and brings them to his face, kisses them slowly, the knuckles, the palms then sucking a thumb into his mouth, watching in delight when Bones hisses through his teeth.

A coil of arousal twists through Jim, moving him to wriggle out from under Bones, push him to a seated position and straddle his thighs. Instinct tells him to guide Bones through this, to seal this bond. He knows Bones well enough to get he’s fragile when he travels, and Jim needs to ground him, so he snakes his arms around Bones neck and presses his chest to his face.

“Undress me, Bones, I’m yours, it’s okay.”

Bones gazes up at him, eyes dark and hooded with arousal, and nods, pulls Jim’s t-shirt up and away and presses his mouth to Jim’s skin. “Fuck, kid…you’re just…” and licks a hot tongue along to one nipple, flicks at it, then sits back and strokes his hands down Jim’s sides till they rest at his hips.

“Come on, Bones,” Jim pleads and guides Bones to his waistband until he’s unbuttoned his jeans. Jim pushes those beautiful hands so Bones understands that he needs to release his cock before he comes in his pants, and kneels up to give him access. Bones takes his eyes off Jim’s face for the first time in forever to glance down as he releases him, a slight frown on his face that mystifies Jim. He doesn’t probe, doesn’t want to spoil the moment, so stands up unsteadily to allow Bones to push his jeans down. He steps out, suddenly filled with his customary confidence when Bones moans in approval.

His cock’s almost flush with his belly and Jim takes Bones by the hand and pulls him to standing, pressing against him for a long, gentle, needy kiss while he undresses Bones, pulling away irritably each time he needs to make room to maneuver away damp, musky clothing. Jim realizes he’s never seen Bones in anything but stolen items and wonders what it would be like to see the real man, dressed in his scrubs, or a suit, slobbing around in sweats or naked like this every day. He’s never seen him aroused before, never had license to touch him like this, and these last few years of wanting, needing Bones and, finally this is it – the sense of joy is almost snuffed out by a sudden panic that Bones might jump before they’re through.

“Just wait, okay, wait!” and Jim rushes to his unmade bed to root around under the pillow for some lube and a condom.

Bones smiles at him when he realizes what he’s got in his hand and takes the tube from him, unstops it and rests it on the couch. He sits down so his face is level with Jim’s cock and Jim’s standing between his legs, his hands twisting in dark, thick hair.

Jim throws his head back when he feels sure fingers stroking through his pubic hair, tracing lines on his inner thigh, stroking and weighing his balls. Jim’s always in control when he fucks, alcohol and the occasional drug use notwithstanding; always aware just where he stands on his line of arousal so that he can satisfy his partner. But when lush lips stretch around the head of his cock, Jim freezes, realizing he’s seconds away from coming.

“Bones, _stop_ , seriously, man – I’m gonna shoot my load if you don’t stop; don’t wanna waste tonight, okay?”

“Okay, let’s go to bed then,” Bones growls, picking up the lube and condom and pushing Jim before him.

Bones stretches out on the tiny bed, parts his legs and puts his hands under his head, all gift wrap gone, obvious in what he wants to happen now. Jim promises that next time he’s going to give Bones a full picture of his skills as a lover but now, fuck it, it’s his damned birthday and he’s going to go for gold. He tears open the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom onto his desperate cock, gives it a squeeze at the base because seriously, he’s still just a breath from coming. He lubes up as gently as he can then kneels between Bones’ thighs, running a slippery finger around his entrance.

Then he sees it.

“Bones?”

Bones looks down at Jim’s hand tracing the tattoo where his inner thigh meets hip, a cluster of three blue, nautical stars. Naked eyes meet his and Jim drops his head and lathes his tongue across the design, grasping Bones’ cock while he mumbles into the warm, musky skin.

“I can’t bring you with me when I jump, but this is part of me, like…”

But Jim doesn’t need to hear the end of this sentence, what he _needs_ is to devour those lips, kiss those eyes, hold this incredible man, his guardian angel. And his mouth is raw, bruised when Bones wriggles free so he, both of them can breathe.

“Jesus,” Bones says, “get on with it already.”

“Coming right up, old man,” Jim smirks, delighting in how Bones moans when his finger slides in right up to the third knuckle, eyes on Bones’ face the whole time. He works his finger in and out while gently stroking Bones’ impressive cock with the other hand. He doesn’t want to rush him, wondering if he’s as close as he is.

“More,” Bones insists, grabbing Jim’s arm to help, so Jim obliges, moaning in response to how two fingers look twisting into that muscular ass, how Bones pulls his legs up to his chest to give Jim access. Christ, he never imagined it would be like this, that he’d be the one in control in this situation. Bones is showing nothing but trust in him, allowing him to explore skin he’s wanted for so long, making himself a birthday gift, pliable, giving, allowing Jim to fulfill every fantasy he’s held for years by submitting to him. He’d like to give his own cock a reassuring tug, but as it is, Jim doesn’t have enough hands to cover every inch of tan, lightly haired skin before him, his mouth can’t reach enough areas quickly enough to worship and bless and explore. He’s consumed with joy — he’s waited so long, so long…

The moment Jim’s cock breaches the tight hole is so fucking overwhelming that Jim’s sure his heart’s gonna burst right through his ribs and land between them. He grins at the image, earning a quirk of the eyebrow from the gorgeous bastard beneath him.

“Somethin’ amusing you?” The southern drawl in full fettle now Jim’s got Bones where he wants.

“I’m just happy,” Jim manages to force out, pushing in a little further then more when Bones smiles back and cranes up to kiss him. Their mouths fuse as they kiss, Jim’s tongue moving in time with his thrusts as Bones loosens around him and Bones is gasping wantonly as Jim finds that spot inside him when he changes angle.

“Gonna come, Bones,” Jim gasps, heat building in his belly. “Fuck, so good, so good…”

“Yeah,” and legs clamp around him, hands guide his hips to move faster until Jim stills and comes harder than he has ever, for what seems like an eternity, mumbling his need and want into Bones mouth. He’s dimly aware that maybe Bones has come too and feels a twinge of guilt that he’s lost track; but shit, he’ll do better next time. He slumps onto the hard chest below him realizing with relief that there’s a slick of come on Bones’ belly even though his hands have not loosened their grip on Jim’s hips.

“Holy fuck,” he says resting his chin wearily on Bones’ shoulder, “I mean – _fuck_.”

“Well, sure – just gimme a minute to recover, kid—“ Bones chuckles, and Jim shuts him up with another kiss.

 

+++

 

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a great believer in the educational system, Bones.”

Bones pushes up onto an elbow and regards Jim’s face with a scowl. “You ever think you’re wasting your life, kid? Shit you’re so damned smart…”

“I don’t need to go back to school, I’m _fine_.” Way to ruin the post-coital snuggling; thanks Bones. But Jim knew it would come up, how he’d spend the lottery money.

Bones is silent for a moment. They’re lying side by side facing each other, Jim’s head resting on Bones’ arm; his hand in Jim’s hair. “I’m sorry – you’ll do whatever you think’s right, sorry.” But it’s a growl.

“That’s me, Bones.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Bones crooks his arm so his face is inches from his, mossy eyes earnest. “Just look after yourself, alright, put it in a trust fund or something…”

Something cold clutches at Jim’s heart. “What?” he says. “ _Tell_ me.”

Bones sighs, flops onto his back. “I can’t see you for a while…quite a while.”

“No!” Jim grabs Bones’ face. “Don’t say that – I’ll fucking die.”

“No you won’t Jim. Look, it’s out of my hands, you know that – I just thought I’d better warn you in case, you know…”

“In case what, Bones, _what_?” Fuck – can’t he have anything, _anyone_ for himself?

Bones brings his mouth close, breath moist and warm against Jim’s lips. “In case you were enough of a dumbass to think I didn’t love you, _that’s_ what.”

Oh. _Oh_.

 

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	8. 8

**Part 8**

 **Alice: I simply must get through!  
Doorknob: Sorry, you're much too big. Simply impassible.  
Alice: You mean impossible?  
Doorknob: No, impassible. Nothing's impossible.  
**

 _San Francisco: 2257 – Jim is 24, Leonard is 30_.

Leonard  
It’s almost eighteen months before Sarek’s back on Earth and able to see them face to face, and Leonard’s been ‘holding’ that data package from Spock in his mind all this time.

“Vulcans do not meld lightly, Doctor McCoy, but I am convinced that this ‘information package’ you refer to will provide the knowledge we need. In which time period did you obtain it?”

Leonard hesitates, is purposely vague - “It’s in the future, sir. To be honest, I’m not sure when - I pretty much avoided finding out the date for obvious reasons.”

“I understand – it is not necessarily useful to know about events before they occur ‘naturally’. In addition, it occurs to me I may inadvertently learn other information about the future when we join minds.”

“I, I mean, _we_ \- this ‘friend’ considered this but I’m assured that you are skilful enough not to go too deep, that you will be able to uncover what you need then retreat. The information, so I’m told, is clearly signposted.”

“Is your ‘friend’ a Vulcan?”

“Naturally.”

Sarek thinks. “And am I acquainted with this Vulcan?”

“Sir, I…” Leonard doesn’t want to lie but he also doesn’t want to say, unsure what Spock would want. Sarek seems to understand and doesn’t probe.

“Rise, Doctor—“

Leonard stands, apprehensively watches Sarek glide to his side of the desk and gulps when the Vulcan extends a hand; somehow he manages not to flinch when fingers reach for his face, as Spock’s had done before ( _after_ , whatever…).

Leonard wants to keep his eyes open but they fall shut as soon as Sarek begins to speak:

“Our minds – one, our thoughts – one…” and it’s like falling down the rabbit hole, no soft start to ease him in to the experience as there was with Spock.

Images cartwheel past, too fast for Leonard to make sense of them, but he sees a red landscape, a fire-ball, unintelligible words that he presumes must be Vulcan and he’s no idea if he’s experiencing Spock’s thoughts or Sarek’s and, what must be mere seconds later, he pulls away panting, eyes wide and staring and Sarek’s a few centimeters away, face impassive, hand still raised in the space between them.

Leonard wonders if he’s violated some etiquette by breaking the meld—

“I apologize,” Leonard stutters, just in case.

“You were alarmed, it is a new experience for you, other than your experience on stardate—”

“Stop! I don’t want to know when it was.”

“I understand.” Sarek indicates the chair and Leonard slumps down gratefully, unsure his legs will hold him up much longer.

“So it worked?” Leonard rubs his face; he’s sweating, but his breath is calmer at least. “Can I ask what you learned…?”

“Spock has shared much with me. He indicated something of your origins, Doctor McCoy.”

Ah, so the old devil’s worked out it’s his son. Hey, wait a goddamn _minute_ — “My _origins_ , what do you mean?”

“I will explain in a good time but first, it appears your theory that James Kirk is the fulcrum of your movement through time is well-founded. He is destined to be a great man, but only if we can ensure your continued presence by his side. This, Doctor McCoy, as you well know, rests on your finding a cure or absolute control over your affliction.

“Starfleet has shown you great leniency in providing research facilities to assist you but we have little time left. Since you will not be permitted to take a post on a starship until you can guarantee the time-travelling has ceased, it is vital we work together to formulate a strategy.

“Have Cadet Kirk join us, Doctor. We have much to discuss.”

Leonard is reeling under the knowledge that Jim’s destined for better things, that this previously directionless youth should not just make it, but become a great man? Sure, Jim’s a fucking genius, works hard to keep up with his heavy work load, shows nothing but enthusiasm and commitment, a far cry from the kid who twitched and wriggled at the mere mention of George Kirk’s name.

He thinks back to the _painful_ Kobayashi Sim, how Jim refused to accept its principles, how the rest of the sim crew didn’t enjoy his leadership ‘style’, his smugness one little bit. He wonders what the hell can happen that Jim will finally learn what it takes to lead. And he wonders if he’ll have any influence on Jim’s development, although he doubts this; sure – once, when Jim was a kid, he could say that he had something to do with it, maybe, but since they’ve been at the academy, Jim’s very much his own man; if anything Leonard’s leaning on him, rather than vice versa. Still, he has every intention of staying with him, and thinks now they really should put in a request to be posted on the same ship. It’s testament to the strength of his feelings for Jim that he’s willing to follow him into the black, instead of taking a planetary posting as he’d originally planned when he signed up.

“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador, but can I ask you not to mention the ‘great man’ part to Jim? He’s lived under his father’s shadow all his life and he’s one ornery young gentleman.”

“Ornery? I am not familiar with this word. Explain.”

“Tell him he’s gotta do something, and you’ll almost guarantee he won’t.”

“Most illogical behavior; however I will be guided by your knowledge of him.”

 

+++

 

Jim  
“You’re an alien? Jesus, Bones, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Bones rolls his eyes.

“Cadet Kirk – McCoy is human but there are traces of Det’hnih’di genes within him still. They have become much defused over the past century but their presence explains the time-travelling.”

Jim looks at Bones, back to Sarek – something doesn’t quite fit. “How do you know about the genes, sir? Last I knew, your knowledge of the Det’hnih’di was sketchy. Have others been discovered since we last spoke?”

Sarek places his hands on the desk in front of him and it’s like he’s waiting for Bones to explain – that’s two of them.

“I had an information package in my mind,” Bones finally says.

“What? _How_? How did it get there?”

Bones shifts about in his high backed chair, looks at his feet. “It’s from the future.” And still Bones doesn’t look at him.

“What – _you_ jumped to the future, or was it sent to you?”

“I jumped. Listen, Jim, I couldn’t tell you.”

“But that’s not happened before, has it? That’s why we thought you could only go back; and why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s complicated,” Bones growls, “and I jus’ got the feeling I wasn’t _supposed_ to tell you.” His accent hits the room with his anger, like a pissed cowboy kicking open a saloon door.

“What d’you mean ‘supposed to’?” Jim’s pissed too now – how the hell’s he going to help figure this out if Bones is holding out on him?

Bones ignores the question. Instead he explains, “ Okay, I had a mind meld, I ‘received’ an information package containing vital information about the Det’hnih’di. It was deposited into my mind so it could be read by the ambassador. And Jim, in _case_ you hadn’t noticed, _I’m_ still trying to process my own everything-altering piece of data while you’re sitting there worrying about nothing. We’ll talk about it later.”

Right. End of discussion. For now.

Bones shakes his head, his face returning back to its usual color. “Gram told me of my great Grandpa. He came back from a mission married to some strange woman. No one liked her much – maybe she was the alien. And if she was humanoid, which we now know the Det’hnih’di apparently are, maybe they chose to keep her origins under wraps seeing as how people were less liberal in those days.”

Damn, this is incredible. Jim thinks about the generations of Kirks who’ve served in Starfleet – any of his own ancestors could have originated off-world too.

“Without access to your ancestor’s records,” Sarek says, “we cannot know if she was the first, but I suggest you research the rest of your family as far back as you are able, Doctor.”

“Waste of time, sir, I’ve already done that; my father identified the gene, even though we had no idea of its origin.” Bones stares at the wall over Sarek’s head while he thinks. His voice is even when he says, “And my daughter has the gene so it doesn’t end with me.”

Suddenly feeling nothing but compassion for Bones, his anger burnt out as soon as it flared, Jim says softly, “And you’re pretty sure there’s no one else about on Earth who jumps?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“Your immediate focus should be what this new information concerning your ancestry might teach you in regards to controlling your traveling. On Vulcan, while we are all born telepaths, it is a skill that must be mentored and honed over a lifetime. Without the training and discipline, the ability would remain but it would be—”

“—Crude,” Jim interjects remembering Sarek’s words from their first meeting, “animal.” He ignores Bones’ murderous look. “And without others of her kind, and the gene missing a generation or two, any knowledge the first one had would soon have been lost.”

“From the new information you have shown me,” Sarek says, “it would appear that the Det’hnih’di have developed a similar physiological reaction to humans when faced with danger. When humans experience excessive stress, the fight or flight response is designed to assist in overcoming, or removing you from danger. The Det’hnih’di have evolved a step further; they have ability to absent themselves from danger by—”

“—jumping through time!” Bones says, and looks at Jim, shakes his head, brow furrowed with confusion and eyes shining. He holds back a grin, relieved he’s finally learned something that makes sense of why he jumps.

“Precisely, Doctor. They have the ability to move through the fourth dimension at will, but, just as you are also able to run at any time, their temporal movements are not purely dependant on fear. You have inherited that ability and hence, you are able to propel yourself through time. Your movement to locations and times of your choosing is crude since you lack the skill to direct yourself, and I suspect much of it has been governed by your unconscious mind.

“My grandma taught me a few things; she’d kept the elixir formula at least.” Bones sounds almost defeated.

“Hey, Bones, the ambassador’s already said he can help us with some of the techniques,” Jim says.

“Indeed. Your unconscious, when under extreme stress, has a compulsion to send you to certain time periods. Currently you are unable to do this with any degree of accuracy. Even so, there is a probability that on occasion you will jump to a time you desire, even if you do not have measurable skill.”

“Well that’s clear. Sometimes I get there and it makes more sense than others. Sometimes I can see why I wanted to go back but this doesn’t explain how I’ve ended up everywhere. Why did I jump to Jim that first time? Why did I visit Jocelyn in the future? And why did I go to the future those other times?”

At this latest revelation, Jim stares at Bones. _More_ future jumps?

“Doctor McCoy is not free to reveal all he knows” Sarek says, as if knew Jim was about to comment. “The burden of knowing what is to come may influence a subject in such as way as to impede clarity of action.”

Jim grinds his teeth. “Sometimes I feel like a guinea pig here, or a puppet, or—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Bones says. “You don’t feel the master of your own fate. Welcome to my world!”

Sarek clasps his hands together. “It appears you are both correct.”

“What do you mean?” Bones almost jumps out of his seat. He’s said this so many times to Jim, how he feels like he’s being thrown back and forth through time and no matter what he does, things never change around him.

“You have stated yourself, Doctor McCoy, that you have sensed there is a pattern although you have been unable to discover it. You have referred metaphorically to this ‘control’ over your movements as ‘The Powers that Be’.”

“Yes, but you just said that my unconscious controls where I end up”

“He’s talking about _who_ controls your unconscious, Bones, don’t you see?” Jim says.

“Who are they, The Powers that Be – a group of sadistic deities?” Bones asks; he looks stunned.

“My understanding is that they are not deities but highly advanced life forms who are given to the protection of species. You will find no reference to them in Starfleet records as, according to the information package, we have yet to learn of them in this time. They will come to be known as The Preservers. This last you must not share with anyone beyond this room.”

“And what do these Preservers do? Play games with us? Are we packs of cards and I’m the joker?” Jim notices how Bones can’t quite smother the sarcasm in his voice.

“I do not follow your analogy, Doctor.”

“I think McCoy wants to know what’s the purpose of their interventions?”

“It is simple – the preservation of life.”

“Well, their way of going about things is about as much use as a pocket on the back of a shirt, the amount of disease and death out there,” Bones grumbles.

“They do not deal with the preservation of individuals, Doctor; that is for healers such as yourself. The Preservers are concerned with entire species, planets. The universe is large and threats are numerous – while the Preservers are highly skilled and dedicated, they are not always successful. They may transplant a whole species onto an uninhabited planet or, as in this case, manipulate time, preventing threat to a species before it happens by ensuring the success and influence of key individuals.”

“And McCoy is a key individual, “Jim says quietly looking over at his guardian angel. He wonders what exactly it is that Bones is destined to achieve and wonders if his role in all this is to be the supportive ‘wife’? He almost chuckles but suppresses the urge out of respect for Sarek. There’s been quite enough displays of emotion for the average Vulcan to tolerate, even one so accustomed to Terran ways.

It seems Bones doesn’t share the same resolve.

“I’m a country doctor not a hero,” Bones huffs. “There must be an honest to goodness easier way…dammit, I knew there was something pushing me around, _making_ me jump.”

“Since we cannot anticipate what it is you are expected to accomplish,” Sarek says, “we must trust the ‘information package’. Therefore, it is imperative we find a cure and until then, learn how to control your time-travel so that you are more clearly focused on the geographical sites.

“Perhaps understanding will come with time, but for now, in order to acquire a degree of control over the instances, and to avoid bringing yourself unnecessary harm when you travel, you and Cadet Kirk must practice the meditative and visualization techniques I have provided you with.

“I leave for Vulcan tomorrow and I do not return to Earth for some two point three months; therefore I will have my assistant provide you with a means of communicating with me directly via subspace.”

“Dammit,” Bones says, “I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You are a doctor, and an exceptionally talented one. I have knowledge of your current research and I urge you to continue. My understanding is that your work is to prove fruitful.”

“Into the Malverian mud flea vaccine?” Bones voice is all disbelief and sarcasm.

“No, Bones, he means your work in grafting of neural tissue, don’t you see?” Jim says. “If it’s some part of your brain that’s causing you to jump, this could be a way to fix it – I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this already!”

“Jim, no one else can perform the grafts except for me, and I’m still learning. I don’t have time to train anyone up – remember, fixing this is a condition of my graduation, which is only a year away. Also, what the hell is supposed to be grafted? And I’m worried Joanna’ll start jumping too before we get anywhere.”

“Don’t worry Bones, we’ll find a way, I know it.” Jim says, and he really, really believes it. It’s just another puzzle and if there’s one thing he loves is a puzzle. He’s not yet met one he can’t crack.

 

+++

 

_San Francisco: 2257– Jim is 24, Leonard is 30_

Jim  
“Look, Jim, I don’t have time for this. I should be in the labs not lying down and ‘finding my calm center’.”

Bones is sitting on the edge of the couch, a pile of PADDS at his feet. His shoulders are hunched, he has shadows under his eyes and looks like he just wants to crawl into bed and sleep until his next shift at the clinic. Their insane schedules have reached critical point over the past few weeks but Bones has somehow managed to crowbar in ‘spare’ waking time into research.

Jim crouches in front of him, rests his chin on Bones’ knee. “You’ve been working 24/7 on this, Bones. Come on, let’s give the stuff Sarek’s told us about a shot, you never know, you might jump somewhere that’ll really help everything happen now as it should.” Jim wonders at the ‘incoherency’ of that statement, how it’s become the norm to talk in terms of cause and effect and shifts in events.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“You need to hear me out. Also, what the hell have you, we, got to lose?”

Bones shrugs, huffs, folds his arms. “See, this is the problem, right here; I have no idea what we’ve got to lose. I just have this…fuck…this feeling that I need to _do_ something, but I don’t know what, I don’t know _when_ – I jus’ need to get ‘something’ right else something terrible’s going to happen.”

“I know. And I trust you, Bones, your feelings – that’s what brought you to me in the first place, you know, when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, snot nosed, feisty little shit that you were.” Bones voice is soft, affectionate and one big sigh of exhaustion.

“So nothing much has changed, huh?” And Jim mimes wiping his nose on his sleeve, slides his gaze to Bones’ crotch, up to his face, licks his lips.

“You have your bj face on.”

“I do?” Jim tips his head to the side, bats his eyes in mock innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Asshole.” Only Bones can say this with such warmth. “Okay, ‘cause it’s you and I’m dog tired and might just drop off, let’s do it. You do all the work, mind, I’m jus’ lying here.”

Jim nudges Bones so he makes room. “Okay – now Sarek says you’re a victim of your emotions and that until you can ‘achieve inner calm’ you won’t be able to take control, won’t have a chance in hell of ‘aiming’ then coming back.”

Jim feels Bones tense against his body. He knows the best way to keep an angry person angry is to _point out_ they’re angry and tell them to calm; so he ignores the subtle change in Bones’ body language and carries on. “So, it’s like when you’re in surgery, do you ever get nervous?”

“Hell, yeah—”

“—but you get a grip; you control your emotions, your thoughts.“ Jim says.

“Well of course. If I didn’t, I’d fuck up, wouldn’t be able to do it; but that’s the way it is. It isn’t something special – I worked it out for myself.”

“But what do you do? _Exactly?_ ”

Bones thinks, his eyelids droop. “I breathe, I think calm thoughts…” at this he cracks open an eye and huffs. “And if you so much as fucking think the word ‘hippy’, I’ll hypo you in your sleep!”

Jim smiles, pulls Bones’ legs across his, unlaces battered sneakers and tosses them onto the floor. “Go on…”

Bones closes his eyes again. “Okay, then my hands are steady as shit, I think about what I’m going to do _before_ I do it, I visualize the site of the procedure…but most surgeons do that, it’s nothing new.”

“And what does that look like – the site?” Jim purposefully dips his voice, so it’s slower, calm, the way he used to do with Frank when he was a kid, he worked it out then that sometimes, just sometimes, this would soothe Frank, maybe give him a moment to… “Tell me.” He can see a twitch in Bones’ jaw, his forehead’s scrunched up. “And chill, man, come on – you need to slow down, think about it and,” he slaps Bones’ feet, “all the time you’re thinking ‘why’s he asking me such dumb questions’, you’re _not_ thinking about _what_ I’ve asked you to think about.”

“Now you’re confusing me…”

But Bones has lost some of the tension in his neck, his shoulders. Jim smiles to himself – Sarek’s notes said confusion was totally a tactic.

“Okay,” Bones murmurs, “I have this big, colorful vivid picture, I visualize the site, what I’m going to do before I do it, it’s like I’m _there_ , does that even make sense to you?”

Jim nods, although he knows Bones can’t see, but he doesn’t want to interrupt, not now Bones has stopped wriggling and bitching, so to speak. He strokes Bones’ hand, feels how his fingers uncurl and flop, wrists up. His feet eventually flop apart, and Bones describes how he goes about his surgery in detail, how he breathes through, acquires absolute focus, feels total confidence.

“That’s right, baby,” Jim says, usually only calls him that when they’re making love, when Bones is stripped of all his fight and rage and self-loathing. “It’s like lucid dreaming, you _make_ it happen, and why not do this with the places, the times you travel to? _Make_ it real. _Think_ it real. It’s something I do, Bones – well, lately maybe. I visualize what I want – like it’s real. I thought about being with you, finding you when we were apart those times. And we’re here, together. And now, when they say I won’t amount to anything, I think about what Pike said to me. I just know where I’m supposed to ‘be’. And I am here, aren’t I?”

“Sarek says your unconscious doesn’t know the difference between reality and fiction, so _fool_ it. Pretend like the place you want to go to is real – shit, what have you got to lose?”

There’s a heavy silence, then Bones opens his eyes, looks at Jim, a dark, passionate gaze, pleading, fearful, hopeful all at once. “But what if I don’t know where to jump, Jim? What if I get it wrong like all those times I tried to save my daddy?”

Jim fights to speak past the rock in his throat, “Sarek seems to think you’ll know – you just need to stop, you know—”

“Being myself you mean? Bitching and moaning all the time; a grouchy, narrow minded, attitude bearing divorcee? Well that ain’t gonna happen.”

“No one’s asking you to change, Bones. I happen to like your grouch, but let’s _try_ this,” Jim’s voice rasps between them. “Sarek’s given me some documents to guide us through this. He spoke to me that time you jumped from his office, like I told you. He says it’s easier if someone you trust talks you through the first few times, then you can do it on your own. He thinks I can help you. I know this is going to work, Bones. I just fucking know it.”

Bones laughs an easy, fond laugh. “Okay, let’s get on it – I do have somewhere I want to be.”

 

+++

 

 _Iowa, 2242: Jim is 9, Leonard is (30)_

Leonard:  
The sleet slices through Leonard’s bare skin, so by the time he’s sprinted to Jim’s barn he’s shivering. He burrows in the dresser for clothing. He tries not to think about how these pants belong to Frank, this sweater too, and pulls them over his damp limbs, chest heaving with anxiety, anger, his cheek still smarting from where Jim, 24 year old Jim, back in San Francisco, had struck him – hard.

“Fuck, you didn’t tell me that part!” were Leonard’s last words to a smirking Jim before his universe wobbled and he found himself here, butt naked, still pumped with adrenaline.

The last piece of the jigsaw, the ‘why’ of why it had to be Jim to guide him through this fell into place when Jim had socked Leonard without warning, providing the stress factor needed to get his flight response into overdrive, so he’d jump – be sent _here_ , like a dart. Sarek was a goddamned genius. But, shit that fucking _hurt_.

He hadn’t shared his chosen destination – but he’d said, “ready” once he was on the verge of falling asleep, so tranced out, so present in his imagination, that when Jim had said, “Open your eyes, Bones!” and he’d seen Jim’s worried but determined face, it had been a surprise (understatement) when Jim’s fist came flying towards him at the same time as Jim whispered, ‘Sorry, Bones’. Like much about Jim’s approach to problems, it was crude but effective.

Leonard knows he might find the kid hiding out somewhere in the dilapidated outhouses. Over the years, he’d learned all the places Jim would go to be alone.

Leonard holds his breath, listens out, ears straining to hear above the sound of the sleety rain on the tin roof and climbs the ladder to the top floor of the barn.

“Jim, it’s me. Are you there? Come on, Jim, come out where I can see you’re okay…?”

Leonard waits, listens, not a sound. He knows something’s wrong, that’s why he’s here, something older Jim once said happened the day of his ninth birthday. Leonard knows he needs to keep the anger under control, so he focuses on the moment, the feel of the rungs, smooth and worn under his hands as he climbs back down, the faint rustle of his clothes as he moves, the moist air when he opens the barn door, and steps out into the cold again.

The farmhouse is lit up a hundred meters away and Leonard can hear music blaring from the downstairs window, open despite the weather. He knows Jim won’t be there so he turns and stalks through the shadows towards the workshop, sneakers and clothes soaked through in no time.

The door’s pulled shut but unlocked and he winces at the shudder the unmaintained wood makes when he’s forced to barge it open. It’s dark inside, of course, and Leonard takes a moment to get his bearings. He’s been in here once before, much ‘later’, the year Jim wrecks the car, and he’s hoping the lay-out is pretty much the same.

Sure enough, the tarpaulin is there right in front of him – he can see a faint glow from inside and teases up the cloth, whispers, “It’s me – are you okay?”

“Bones?” The small voice whispers back. “Can you get through the window?”

“’course I can’t! Unlock the door, come on, Jim, let me in.”

He hears a smooth whoosh as the locks slide open, “Quick!” Jim says. It’s awkward pulling the door open, the tarpaulin snags and the top of the door bounces into Leonard’s shoulder hard. He bites his lip to stop himself cussing in front of the kid, folds forward and crawls into the back seat of George’s Chevrolet, his breath hitching when he first makes out the small figure pressed up against the far door.

“Bones! I knew you’d come!” Jim throws his arms around Leonard, then he seems to thinks better or it – probably thinks hugging’s lame. Jim retreats and makes room. He’s dressed in pale blue pjs, worn and baggy, making him look even younger than he is. They must be soaked too and Leonard huffs, gets himself into a seated position, adopts a casual pose.

“Well, this is nice,” Leonard says, running a hand through wet hair, then winks, decides to shake it all over Jim’s face and, yeah – this gets a smile out of him. He can see the kid’s got a swollen lip and a welt on his jaw and Leonard draws a long calming breath.

“Hey! You’re all wet – and you smell, like a dog!” Jim’s voice is thready, like he’s been crying.

“Charmin’ aren’t you?” Leonard forces a grin, ruffles Jim’s hair and grins some more when Jim slaps his hand away. “So…” Leonard fakes an ‘ow’ face and shakes the hand this Jim ‘hurt’. “…how’s your birthday?”

Jim frowns, looks down at the car seat. His bare toes curl and uncurl. “It was okay, you know…”

“Why are you here, Jim? It’s cold, late – you should be tucked up in bed all safe.”

Jim shoots him a suspicious look. “Safe? _Here’s_ safe. Don’t make me go back inside, Bones.”

“Won’t Sam be worried about you?”

“Sam knows I’m here – it’s okay. I’ll go back in the morning after _he’s_ gone to work.”

Leonard measures his words carefully. “Tell me what happened.”

“Don’t wanna…you’ll say I’m bad. Everyone says I’m bad…”

“Listen, kid, you’re _not_ bad, okay? I know – I’ve met people who are bad and you’re the opposite of that – you’re good, you know, like one of those angels they put on the Christmas Tree.” Damn that was lame. “Not all adults are as smart as me – Frank’s…” an asshole? “Frank jus’ doesn’t know…you know… how to be nice sometimes…”

To his surprise, Jim nods. Leonard knows the kid needs to hear this, that he’s a good kid every day, but shit, this is all the time Leonard’s got, for now, so it’ll have to do.

“Let me look at your face, Jim.” And Leonard extends a cautious hand towards his jaw. “Does it hurt?”

“No!” Jim draws out the vowel in indignation, “’course it doesn’t hurt. Everyone thinks I’m a baby…”

 _Jesus, you’re only nine years old_ , Leonard thinks, feeling angry tears prick his eyes.

“Let me take a look, come on.” Jim lifts his chin off his chest, and taking this as a yes, Leonard runs careful fingers across his face. “Least your nose is okay this time. Is it just your face?”

“My arm’s a bit twisty, but it’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

“I hate Frank,” Jim says looking at Leonard, “I _hate_ him, I want him to die. Why do the good guys die and bad guys live, Bones?” Blue eyes, bright with tears, plead.

“I don’t know, Jim,” Leonard croaks, grinding his teeth with the effort of keeping a check on the rage bubbling across his back and chest like lava. He shrugs, shifts about in the small space, the humidity adding to his discomfort, his sense of being trapped.

“Do _you_ hate him?” Jim wants to know. Leonard nods. He can’t lie to Jim. “Can you show him?” Jim whispers. “Teach him a lesson? No one ever hurts big people…”

“Well, that’s not strictly true, kid. I _have_ been hurt by big guys, but they were _way_ bigger than me!” _By you, in fact, you little_ … Leonard remembers the punch less than half an hour ago, a ‘gift’ from a considerably older, combat-trained version of the slight form in front of him now. “Violence isn’t an answer, you know? I’m a doctor not a…”

“You _said_. You said you’d hurt him good – you _promised_!”

Yes, he had. Leonard had been so fucking mad, so sick of seeing this amazing kid squashed and cowed, he’d clenched his fists that time, he’d punched the wall in fury, and it had sent Leonard back to the present – fuck lot of good that had done. He couldn’t control his anger and he’d left Jim again. To Frank. Great. Plus, Leonard thinks, he’s an adult, he should be setting a good example.

“I was just angry, Jim. You should speak to someone, your teacher maybe?”

“She thinks I’m bad too.”

Fuck. What’s he gonna fix in a quick conversation? It was a waste of time jumping back here.

“Did you speak to your mom today?”

Jim nods. “Yeah, she sent me a vid message – she’s in the black again.” Jim stretches out his ‘twisty’ arm, shakes it, rests it across his chest. “My mom’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is – you know she loves you very much, right?” Leonard says and, in that moment he understands why he’s here, how simply knowing he’s not completely alone, abandoned might just support Jim in the hard, lonely times to come. Leonard clears his throat. “Just ‘cause she’s not with you doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. She’s got like, a really important job.”

“Did she tell you?” Jim’s pale, sweaty face gazes at Leonard all disbelief and challenge.

“Well, I haven’t met her but she talks to you, when you’re big, often. I hear you laughing sometimes.”

Big, unblinking eyes fix on Leonard’s face.

“Yeah, mom’s funny.”

“And I overhear you both talking: when you say goodbye, you say, “Love you, mom”, and then she says, “Love you, Jimmy”. And sometimes it’s her first, depends who has to go. Leonard attempts the voices, just to lighten the moment.

“ _Hey_!” Jim cries grinning, delighted, and Leonard’s heart jumps like it does so often when he’s with Jim, whatever age he is.

“What?”

“You broke The Rules.”

“I _did_? How?”

“You _told me_ stuff – you said you aren’t s’pposed to tell me stuff.”

Leonard grins, “Dammit, sorry ‘bout that. But I dunno, can’t see what harm it’ll do for you to know your mom loves you.”

“If she loved me she’d get me a dog.” Simple child logic and, just like that, Jim’s in tears, punching the seat, skinny legs kicking. Leonard doesn’t really know nine-year olds, but he can’t help thinking this is a bit fucked up, an extreme reaction and the kid really needs someone to talk to, wonders why in this day and age with so many available resources, he’s not been taken to a counselor at least.

But Leonard knows better than to touch the boy, even though he aches to gather him up and protect him from everything, he can’t save him. He’s not a super hero, dammit. Anyways, Jim doesn’t do hugging, not now, not like adult Jim, so Leonard waits him out, making shushing noises, gulping down the well of discomfort and rage again. ‘Course he wants to know what happened with Frank, can imagine damn well, but doesn’t want to stir up the kid again.

Leonard watches a now perceptibly calmer Jim stretched out on his back, one bare foot resting lightly by Leonard’s thigh. The boy’s panting a little and staring up at the roof. He’s got his hand clasped to his chest, something held tight in his fist, and Leonard doesn’t need to ask – he knows it’s the little dog toy and he feels something sooth his soul, that Jim should thus link the two of them in his mind.

“Please whup him, Bones. Mom would if she knew but I can’t tell her…she’s always sad…” His voice hovers like a tiny moth in the dark interior of the car.

“I can’t do that, Jim, it’s wrong; and you and me, we’re better people than that.”

Really, there’s nothing Leonard wants to do, _nothing_ more than beat on Frank. God knows he’s angry enough, but if he did, what would happen to Jim after? Frank might take it out on him and Leonard’s not around to protect him.

“Well – why can’t you come back and stop Frank marrying mom?”

Damn. “Listen, I’ve told you before, I can’t do that. I can’t change things – only you, people here, now, can change stuff.” Jim frowns, doesn’t like this one bit.

“But I’m only little, how can I change stuff?”

“’Cause you’re a tough little kid, that’s why. You just gotta speak to someone at school – _promise_ me?”

“Okay, I promise…” One thing, Jim always keeps his promises whatever age.

Leonard twists round, pushes the door open with his foot and says over his shoulder, “Come on, you’re going back, but to bed. It’s late and you got school tomorrow. I’ll come in with you – you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay? I’ll wait around outside until you’re in your room. Wave your flashlight, okay?”

Jim looks triumphant and leaps up, his voice loud in the workshop as he straightens out the tarpaulin. “You’ll show him, won’t you, Bones.”

“I’ll do no such thing, I’m just gonna make sure you’re safe now, simmer down before you wake up the birds ahead of time.” Leonard feels a strange joy, the way the kid’s bouncing on his heels, shoulders back, head raised, reminiscent of the Jim he knows in the present. “Now secure the doors and calm down, k?”

Jim nods, trots beside him, and tries to fall into step with Leonard’s long strides as they head back for the light of the farmhouse. Jim looks up at him every few meters, and just before he raises his hand to the door release, Jim grabs it, squeezes his thumb with a warm little hand and then punches Leonard hard on the arm.

“Ow kid, the fuck?” What is it with every damned version of Jim Kirk that seems to have no idea about personal bubbles?

“You shouldn’t cuss in front of kids, Bones, we’ve been through this before!” With the trademark smirk, and dammit if Jim doesn’t talk like an adult sometimes, a really annoying adult – like he’s imitating something one of his teachers no doubt says to him on a regular basis when he acts out.

“Yeah, sorry.” He gazes down at Jim, smiling despite himself. “Now, go to bed, okay, and remember it’s not just your mom who loves ya – you got Sam and,” he clears his throat, “you got me.”

Jim’s grinning up at him. “See ya, Bones!”

“Yeah, see ya!” And they salute each other, Leonard waiting, feeling a-glow despite the chill air, till Jim’s light is out and he can return to the barn, where he’ll wait to go back.

 

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	9. 9

**Part 9  
“One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.”  
“One side of what? The other side of what?” thought Alice to herself.  
“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar. **

_The Enterprise: date unknown – Leonard is (30) and age unknown_

 

Leonard  
“Your visitations have become more frequent in the past few…of late, Doctor.”

 _Mr. State the Obvious._

“Well, I’ve been practicing my jumping, Spock. I’m getting pretty good over the past few months. I can aim, go somewhere for a reason. Most of the time.”

Leonard puts his feet up on Spock’s table, notes the frisson of pleasure he feels every time he spots even the most subtle shift in the Vulcan’s body language. Maybe he’s imaging it half the time, maybe he’s mean to tease but, hey – Spock _still_ hasn’t ‘thought’ to borrow some of Older Leonard’s clothing for him, so…maybe they’re just as bad as each other.

“And what might the reason be on this occasion?”

“You’ll probably find this amusing…no, wait—” Leonard adds, in response to the arched eyebrow, “ _—interesting_ , that’s your preferred term of endearment for information, isn’t it? You’ll find it _interesting_ , but truth is, I’m not exactly sure of the reason. I have a hunch that I can get something out of my older self, on this ship, something that can give me a kick in the right direction. Is he even on the ship still? I’m not thinking of a date when I come here, just this couch, your music, your quarters; so there’s no way for me to know if I’m jumping here in a linear way, or anything.

“It’s nine months till my graduation and I’m still feeling around in the dark, trying to learn more about the Det’hnih’di gene so maybe I can manipulate or inhibit it in some way but nothin’ doing so far. I need a clue.”

“I understood you were averse to extracting information regarding the future.”

Spock’s hovering by the door, like he has somewhere to be but he isn’t forthcoming about where since he naturally never mentions ship business.

“Well in this case, I’m willing to make an exception. My daughter’s well-being is at stake and I’ll break any and all rules for my baby girl.” Since he’s discovered she has the gene, once he’d analyzed the samples sent on to him, he’s been sure this is the only way.

“In that case, I will not comment further on the matter.” Spock moves to the comm unit on his desk.

“Spock, you ever heard of contractions?”

Spock stills, considers the question.

“Indeed, in the medical sense the term refers to the action of a functioning muscle or muscle fiber in which force is generated accompanied by shortening and thickening of the muscle or muscle fiber or, on occasion, by its lengthening, most often applied to the rhythmic tightening actions of the uterine muscles—”

“You’re teaching gram to suck eggs now.” Leonard fights the urge to grin, knows Spock well enough by now to get he’s being teased by the Vulcan.

Spock ignores him, “An alternative definition, utilized in economic theory, describes a decrease in economic and industrial activity. Is your grandmother familiar with economics, Doctor?” The Vulcan really does ‘the eyebrow’ a whole lot better than he does, Leonard concedes.

“No she damn well _isn’t. Wasn’t_.”

And of course, Spock knows _exactly_ what Leonard means.

“I do not feel comfortable employing the shortened form.”

“Well, yeah, it’d make you appear more human, bless your heart.”

Spock glances to the side. “Doctor, while I am finding this conversation on semantics and their more informal use, engaging, I wish to redirect your thoughts to the matter in hand.

“Dr McCoy, of the present, is indeed still on this ship and has also expressed a wish to speak with you should you return around this time. Since you are here, I will inform him of your presence. He has requested no visual for the communication.”

“You know that I _knew_ older me would request no visual, don’t you, Spock? That he’d say that—”

“It is logical, since he has been here, in your situation. Time travel has many interesting implications for your future behavior, and it is logical that your older self remembers what his past self thought and did.”

Leonard blinks. “You remind me of someone, Spock.”

“Who might that be, Doctor?” Spock’s eyes widen.

“The Mock Turtle.”

And the Vulcan doesn’t miss a beat.

“An interesting analogy since he was given to exploring tautologies.” Spock leans towards the console, glancing at him when Leonard says:

“You know what you are?”

“I am certain you will tell me.”

“You’re a book without pictures or conversations!”

Spock’s left eye seems to twitch for a split second, Leonard’s sure it does.

“I will hail Doctor McCoy and then I will leave you to converse in private. I find the concept of engaging with two of you at once, difficult to tolerate.”

Leonard lets out a bark of laughter. Yeah, Spock’s okay – not that he’d ever let on he thought so – not in a month of Sundays.

+++

Leonard sits at Spock’s desk, fiddling with some artifact off the shelf to calm his nerves, fearful he won’t learn anything useful because, dammit, he’s running out of time.”

“ _McCoy to McCoy_ ,” his older self says. Very dry.

“Hey, asshole.”

“ _Long time no see -- so to speak._ ” Then Older Leonard adds smoothly, “ _Asshole_.”

Leonard listens for any clues to his older self’s age, through voice alone, but he sounds just the same as he ever does. Better not to see each other, better for him not to know at what age he’s still alive. This could be a couple of months from now, years, he has no idea and doesn’t want to have. He adjusts the volume on the comm unit.

“Yeah, it has been a while. Whatever that means. I need your help.” Leonard leans back, and rubs an eye. It’s not only his skin and bones he takes with him when he jumps – the sheer exhaustion from all work and no play over the past couple of months comes right there with him.

“ _I know. This is why you’re here. See, those Powers that Be have put an itch you can’t scratch inside of you. Us. You know they put ideas into your head when you’re asleep, don’t you?”_

Leonard can just imagine his own smug face, thinks how strange it is that he should have such a strong mental image of his own facial expressions when most people, other than maybe monozygotic twins, or the famous who have to put up with seeing their faces splashed all over the nets, wouldn’t have.

“Well, I know _now_. Thanks. Just when I was hoping I was getting an amount of control on my life.”

 _“You are. It’s just… complicated.”_

It’s true – he’s definitely gotten better at jumping, forwards too – visualizing Spock’s quarters has become easier and easier ‘specially since he requested Spock play the same music once he arrives, and doesn’t move anything around.

“There’s no need for me to fill you in on where I’ve gotten to. You’ll know I just can’t make any progress. You gonna help me out?”

 _“You’re looking in the wrong place._ ”

“I am?”

 _“Shall I tell you where we are right now? Which planet we’re orbiting at the moment?”_

“If it’s going to help us save Joanna, yes. If you’re just making chit-chat, no.”

Leonard feels a rumble of fear tickle his scalp – seriously, how the hell does his future self ever get over the fear of the black? He shrugs the thought away, concentrates on the matter in hand – after all, he has no idea how long he’s going to be here and can’t waste time. The jumps home are still not quite as smooth and accurate as the jumps forward. It’s something he’s got to work on.

 _”The Preservers, our old friends, The Powers that Be Annoying as Hell, well, they up and took the Det’hnih’di and planted them here, on this planet we’re currently orbiting – it’s the third one we’ve come across this mission they’ve had a hand in. One was a…never mind, you don’t need to know. But…_ Older Leonard dips his voice and he sounds a little emotional, _“they treated me like a long lost relative or something. They **knew** I was one of them, pretty much the moment they clapped eyes on me – think about that. _

“Jesus…” Leonard gazes down at his hands, his _human_ hands and wonders how this can be; tries to get his mind around a planet full of jumpers like him. “Maybe like dogs recognizing or having an affinity for their own breed?”

 _“Something like that – maybe we smell funky.”_ Leonard hears his older self chuckle, can’t help smiling – wonders how he would have coped psychologically with the jumping without various versions of his older self being there at different key points in his life.

 _“I’ve got you something, here, I’ll send it to your PADD.”_

Leonard lifts the PADD Spock keeps for him and it bleeps and displays a picture of a small, dark-haired woman with blue-eyes. She’s smiling, looking up at a guy with long, dark messy hair and a beard, skinny as hell wearing an ancient Starfleet Uniform.

“Who are they?” he grates out, his hand trembling slightly.

 _“That, my brother, is our great grandpa Horatio McCoy and, you’ll like this – his wife, N’kwhi’si. The first jumper in the McCoy clan. They called her Christine when she came to Earth with him.”_

Leonard runs his fingers over the image, knows he doesn’t need to share how he feels with his older self because, well, he’s been here in this exact same position once. “How did they meet?”

 _”A hundred years ago, Granpa was one of a small crew of fifteen on an exploratory ship. They beamed down to this planet – they were in real trouble. The Det’hnih’di showed me the records, how they helped fix up their ship and it took a few months. In that time — seems you and me aren’t the only romantics in the clan – well he fell in love and Christine wanted to go back with him to Earth. And, seems a couple of the crew wanted to stay behind. I’ll leave you to find out the rest when, if, you get here yourself one day. But, you know, maybe you can tell Jo-Jo about it one day…_

“So that must be where the rumors, the snippets of information about the Det’hnih’di, come from; where Sarek might have picked up the little he knew, from stories told by the original crew, that have come down through the years,” Leonard says. “Are there any human ancestors there still—?”

 _“No, didn’t work out so well this end, you’ll find out. Thing is, maybe ‘cause of that, the Det’hnih’di, they don’t want to be discovered, or become known. They said as much to the crew, but… so, we’ve been asked to keep their location a secret and Starfleet’s pretty much agreed as long as we study the Det’hnih’di, the planet. But we’ve agreed no other ship’s to come here for at least another twenty years and then under strict guidelines. The data will be classified._ ”

“Why?”

 _“Mixing with other life forms, well, it can cause problems for the Det’hnih’di – look at us for Christ’s sake. Plus they were in danger of becoming extinct until the Preservers intervened and, I guess, it’s a natural caution. But they were more than happy to share information because of our ancestral link with them._

 _“I’ve run complete surveys of their physiology, gene analysis – the usual, but I’ve discovered something, something that’ll explain – why you, we, only jump from a certain age. I’ll send you the data on screen in a moment, but look at the hypothalamus, that’s where you’ll find the nuclei which control movement through time.”_

“What nuclei? I’ve scanned my brain enough times to cook bacon off my skin.”

 _“You need to scan Joanna too.”_

Leonard sighs. “You know I haven’t seen Joanna since… what, are you saying there’s a difference in what I’ll find?”

 _“Just do it, my brother. There are changes since her birth and you need to measure those. You haven’t got records of how the nuclei have changed in nature, well, because no one thought to look at our physiology before and after the first jump. Makes sense – I was to all intents and purposes ‘normal’ until the boating accident. Plus, the nuclei are real small.”_

“So are you saying something happens as a child grows, that it _doesn’t_ jump for a reason -- something’s stopping it? And then, when they reach a certain age, they _do_ jump, just like we did when we were nine?”

 _"I’m not saying anything,"_ Older Leonard replies, _“and I’m also not saying you’re wrong. But I **am** saying, monitor how Jo-Jo’s brain changes over the next couple of months, see what the computer models tell you.”_

Leonard stares at the blank screen, wondering how the hell he’s going to get everything he needs done in the little time he has left until graduation. It’s almost November, now, and they graduate in mid-June. But hell, he’s got a lead here – he knows where to look.

“Why couldn’t this all go into that information package Spock sent Sarek? Wouldn’t it have been easier than getting him involved?”

 _”Because the information we got from the package, it was a necessary carrot. If you’d known the whole shebang, you wouldn’t have had the motivation to work on controlling the jumping. And the data I’m sending you only goes so far. You’ll have to work out the good stuff for yourself. And I know you can because **I’ve** worked it out. You have to cure Joanna – that’s the most important thing of all, and to do that, you’ll have to cure yourself at the same time._

“And that’s it, that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

 _”That’s it. It’s enough. We’re smart, we’ll figure it out, my brother.”_

Leonard tsks. “How many times have I got to tell you – I hate it when you call me that?”

 _”Get this right, asshole, you hopefully won’t have to put up with me much longer.”_ There’s a seriousness in Older Leonard’s voice despite his teasing.

“This is going to work, isn’t it? It has to, because you’re here, on this ship, aren’t you?”

“ _Well, it’s true, I am here, but I have no idea whether I will be here in the same way because of the knowledge I’ve just given you. The future’s not like the past, it is something that **can** be changed – that’s why the Powers that Be are poking around inside your sleeping head. Maybe that’s why they sent you to Jim – they want to make sure certain things happen. They’re not taking any chances. _ ”

Leonard puts his hands on his head, lets out a frustrated puff of air. “When do I get to find out what this is all about? I mean, I know it can’t just be about me, Joanna. Is it about Jim?”

He waits for what seems like an eternity before Older Leonard replies:

 _“All in good time.”_

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake! What if I miss it? What if whatever the hell moment it is passes me by? What if I’m asleep, or get killed before ‘it’? And how can I know that I did the right thing? There are so many variables… _Jesus_. And if I don’t get it right, what’ll happen – why the hell do the Preservers give a shit about me?”

Leonard wonders if his older self’s been hitting the bottle when he hears him say:

 _“The future’s like a spider’s web. One line breaks, yeah, it can be fixed, but it might not look so pretty again._ ”

“What?” Leonard laughs, “You’re getting damned metaphorical in your old age!”

“ _It’s not my age, it’s being stuck on this ship with Spock! Talking like this – it confuses the hell out of him and, it passes the time and it’s become a habit._ ”

“But I need to know how Jim’s involved.”

There’s silence. Then, _“You’ll figure it out one day.”_

“I hate it when you say that.”

 _“You seem kind of grouchy – you not getting laid much lately?”_ Leonard imagines his older self raise an eyebrow at him. Thank god he’s not in the room – he’d have to punch the smug bastard. He does sound mighty relaxed, and he hopes and prays this is because he’s still with Jim and _having a shit load of sex_. But he doesn’t dare ask in case…

“Well you damn well _know_ we’re not. Fucking Drink Me, _fucking_ long hours in the labs, _fucking_ research, fucking assignments – damned fast tracking, more like slow torture. Course we aren’t fucking much – Jim says his right wrist’s not ached this much since he was fourteen!”

They both laugh for some minutes at Leonard’s foul-mouthed tirade.

“Still, he’s got Gaila.”

“ _The beautiful, smart Gaila,”_ Older Leonard says and Leonard wonders if he’s imaging the wistful tone. “ _Listen, I’m going to send some data over, read it quick ‘cause you’re gonna jump soon, but – and this is important – I have a way you can make it up to Jim, get you both over the dry patch. And, trust me, it’s real important you do this. Now listen good…_ ”

 

+++

 _San Francisco: 2257 – Jim is 25, Leonard is 30 and (30)_.

  
Jim  
Jim’s surprised Bones isn’t back yet. It’s late, very, but then again, he’s jumping a lot, trying to hone down the aiming and coming back – with graduation only nine months away, the clock’s ticking.

“Lights, fifty percent,” he says wondering wearily if he can get away with just collapsing on their bed, falling asleep without stripping even. He sniffs under his arm, wrinkles his nose – yep, he really needs a shower – Bones will just bitch if he comes home and finds him sweaty on those clean sheets. He kicks off his sneakers and pads in his work-out gear towards the bathroom then stops dead when he hears Bones talking to someone. He listens for a moment, can’t quite make out what he’s saying and decides Bones isn’t talking to himself, and must be on his comm. Jim knocks on the door, leans his head on the wood, thinks he could fall asleep right there.

“Hey, Bones, you gonna be long? I really need to wash up and crash.”

There’s a moment’s silence before Bones answers.

“Wait up.“ But the door doesn’t open.

Jim pulls off his long sleeved t, decides against dropping it to the floor and balling it up, tosses it to the bed.

“ _Bones_? “ He knocks on the door again. “Why’s the light off?”

“I said hold up, dammit!”

“Okay, _jeez_.” Jim turns and dives belly first onto the bed, enjoying the bounce, and hugs the pillow to the side of his head. He closes his eyes and yawns loud, not even sure if he’s got the energy to stay awake long enough for a bite to eat, or to catch up with Bones, before he dozes off.

+++

Jim lifts his head off the pillow when he feels a hand tightening around his ankles, easing them apart. He smiles and yawns. “I need a shower, Bones, I’m one salty snack at the moment, you won’t like it!”

“Hey, I’m kinda used to your filthy habits Jim, the shower can wait.”

Good because the way Jim feels right now, and Jeez, he must be sick or something because he’s almost too tired for sex. Almost, mind, and there has been a hell of a drought in that department lately. Maybe Bones has timed his doses of Drink Me just right, just for tonight because that’s why there’s a firm hand stroking the back of his thighs while…what, the _fuck_ – how many hands does he have _exactly_ because Jim can still feel the tight grip on his ankles yet there’s definitely _another_ hand… Jim opens his eyes, cranes his neck and can see Bones crouched by the bed, looking at him.

“Hi,” Bones says with a grin that can only be described as predatory.

Before Jim can react he hears another voice behind him and to his left say the same thing.

“Hi, Jim.”

The exact _same_ voice in fact, and just as laced with intent.

Jim pushes up onto his elbows, whips his head round to see _another_ Bones crouched at the foot of the bed. Fuck. He’s never seen them together before – his Bones and the one from Jim’s future, the one who’s been there for him all those times.

Jim’s half hard already as he looks back and forth between them – the same set of smoldering, dark eyes, the same – but he can’t finish the thought because Bones, fucked if he knows which _one_ , stands and leans down to kiss him. It’s a long, searching kiss, exploring every part of Jim’s mouth, drawing his tongue into soft, wet heat and Jim can feel those hands at his ankles shift to his sweatpants, tugging them down, his jock-strap with them, so Jim’s exposed to two sets of eyes that know him so well and good _God_ – the universe is a wonderful place.

Bones pulls away from their kiss and Jim feels another pair of possessive lips, this time on his shoulders, nipping at the tight muscles there. He scrabbles to turn but he’s pinned down, another hand on the back of his neck holding him in place, one stroking his ass possessively.

“Holy fuck,” Jim manages to say, “I’m sure I wrote this at the top of my letter to Santa but—”

“Shut up, Jim, and stay still, I’m busy here.”

“Yeah, what he said,” the other Bones says.

“Definitely salty,” Bones says and both of them chuckle. Evil twins, Jim thinks hazily, gasping when a tongue delves between his ass cheeks, _fucking_ evil but he’s definitely not complaining.

Two sets of tongues, one on his hole, one licking up his arms and across his back, _four_ hands, _oh, God_ , stroking, pulling his ass cheeks apart, two voices hypnotizing him with a dirty drawl and growled instructions and Jim allows every muscle in his body to go limp and gives himself up to their ministrations, to the waves of arousal twisting through him.

He’s turned over and he sees them both side by side for the first time, naked, identical in every detail – tan skin, long muscled limbs, dark nipples hard, and he wonders how he’s going to have the time to worship every part of them with his teeth and tongue before he comes at the mere sight of so much gorgeous Bones — fuck, his cock’s going to snap under this much pressure and he really, _really_ needs it if he’s going to make the most of this.

They flip him over onto his back, exchanging looks so they work in unison and to the same purpose, his torture. Jim moans when he sees two cocks, pre-come glistening at the tips, wonders what they have in store for him, wondering when the fuck he got so lucky, and suddenly, Bones’ jumping doesn’t seem such a bad thing at all.

Bones sits on the bed, back resting against the head board, pulls Jim to him so his back’s tight against Bones’ chest, legs enclosing, _trapping_ him either side, arms positioned across Jim’s chest so he can’t move. He cranes up for a kiss and lets out a choked noise when one of the evil pair takes his cock roughly, sucking on it like a fucking hookah, lush lips licking at the tip, mouthing his balls, nipping his skin, while a finger, then two work him open.

Tweedledum, or Tweedledee, fucked if he knows who, but the Bones who’s supporting him kisses Jim’s throat, tweaks his nipples making Jim buck and twist at the near overwhelming fire rages through him, reignited with every touch and lick and press of knowing, sure fingers and tongue in what seems like _everywhere_ at once.

“Stop strugglin’, Jim,” one of them says.

“You need to stop talking or I’m going to… _fuck_ …last about thirty seconds…oh, _god_ …”

“Likes to be in control,” the other one says, letting go of Jim’s cock for a second and Jim manages to move his arm to tug Bones’ head back down into place, so he’s engulfed again.

“Fuck – _close_ …” Jim splutters, clinging to one, both of them, whichever piece of hairy, muscled limb he can reach, arching forwards, being pulled back against hot, sweaty skin, their prisoner and willingly so.

Jim can hear the unmistakable sound of a cock being lubed up, feels slick fingers working him open a little more, and Jim watches Bones through drugged eyes guide him till he kneels. Both lift Jim up so he’s lined up with one of their cocks and they ease him down, two sets of hands guiding him till Bones is fully seated, and despite having naturally done this many times with his Bones, he’s never felt so full, so _penetrated_ and owned. Jim gasps, overwhelmed by the cock inside him, the feel of their tongues and hands dragging animal moans from him – laid bare, so safe, so surrounded.

While one Bones fucks up into him, muttering filthy endearments into his skin, the other deep throats his cock; and if Jim’s ever felt like he hasn’t been loved or wanted in some of the darker times in his life, he knows now that he’s luckier, more desired in this moment than anyone alive could ever hope to be.

“Your ours, Jim, always,” they say together; and it’s too much, and Jim shouts and comes into the hot, unyielding heat of that mouth, feels like his spine’s being torn from him, overwhelmed by their dark, taunting voices, their relentless torment of every part of him.

“Yeah, darlin’, that’s right,” a sinful drawl.

“…like that, so beautiful…” and another drawl from an even deeper circle of hell.

Neither of them have come yet, at least he thinks they haven’t, much as he can process a thought, love-stoned as he is.

And, God help him, they’re not done with him yet.

They ease Jim into position, till he’s flat on his back, limp arms spread like he’s tied on the cross. He rolls his head weakly to see dual versions of Bones, flank him like the Praetorian guard. They catch each other’s eyes, place a foot each on the floor, half kneel on the bed. Blissed out, Jim watches in awe as the mirror images reach over him till they’re grasping, each for the other’s cock, eyes on Jim, and _Jesus_ , it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen, as they furiously jack the other off, teeth gritted, and in perfect unison of movement and timing. He doesn’t know which one to look at, his eyes ping-ponging between half-shaven faces, taut necks, half closed, hazel eyes, until they come with the same long gasp, the same possessive snarl, and cover his chest, face and stomach with their come.

It’s some minutes before Jim can speak, his voice a ragged whisper. “Holy fuck, Bones, have I died and gone to heaven here?”

Four black eyes roll and they collapse either side of him, nudging him onto his side so he’s pressed between them, safe, happy and very, very sticky.

+++

“Where did you come from?” Jim finally says, when some coherency returns.

The Bones behind him says, “Two days time.”

“I’ve been practicing,” the Bones in front says.

Jim presses into the half hard cock twitching against his ass, reaches round to tug Bones lips towards his. “So this hasn’t happened, _before_ , I mean?”

“Oh, yeah – whatever, it’s happened _now_ if the state of these sheets is enough evidence for you.”

“And you get to do this all again with me in a couple of days?”

“Uh-huh,” Bones grins. “It’s one of the few perks I get to have.”

“Mind fuck,” Jim moans happily when he feels his cock jump again at the sudden possibilities that a few more hours with these two presents. “So _you_ ,” he says tapping one Bones on the shoulder, “came back here to see _you_ ,” kissing the Bones in front, “and that’s what you planned all along?”

“Uh-huh,” they both say. “And we haven’t finished playing with you yet…”

+++

“You know how they… _shit_... say I’m a genius?” Jim grunts slipping a lubed finger into Bones’ ass, while the other Bones does the same to him.

“Never stops talkin’,” the Bones on all fours huffs over a shoulder to his twin who rests a hand on Jim’s shoulder and folds Jim forwards and lines up with Jim’s slick ass.

“I think… they might… be…right,” Jim chokes out as he feels Bones press effortlessly into him in one, brutal movement. “I’ve…ung…I’ve had the best idea ev… _oh_ …”

“If you can’t keep talking _and_ fuck at the same time, shut the hell up,” the other Bones grumbles, reaching round to Jim’s thigh and trying to dictate the speed, damned controlling son of a…

“Oh, he _can_ , we know… _Jesus_ , Jim…that…”

Filled from behind, _filling_ Bones – Jim’s brain is in danger of melting.” Fuck, I’ll tell you later, okay? Now… _ung_ …Bones, stop fidgeting and _you_ , Bones, fuck me already!”

+++

Morning and the rain’s falling outside. It’s just Jim and Bones now – the Older Bones having jumped back to his time in the future.

They lie together, wobbly legs tangled, weak hands stroking idly on a thigh, a wrist, staring at the dancing patterns on the ceiling. Jim for his part, thinking he really should eat something soon the amount of energy he’s burned in the past few hours.

This Bones had talked to Future Bones through, helped him to visualize and then sent him home with an adrenaline hypo to the neck, preferable to the sock in the jaw Jim had improvised that first time. Bones has refined the dose over the months, so it’s still effective, still provides the kick needed to get the flight response active, yet doesn’t put too much strain on his heart.

They watched Future Bones melt away before their eyes, Bones in the present holding Jim tight, one hand still wrapped around the hypo.

“It’s like seeing myself die,” Bones whispers when his counterpart’s gone and no clothes to pick up, he never even got dressed in the ten hours since he jumped.

“Shut up, don’t even fucking think it,” Jim says, grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling the hypo from his hand and throwing it to the floor. “ _Listen_ to me – I used to worry about you dying, never told you this before, but I’ve never seen you older than you are now, right from when I was a kid. I used to think it was because something happened, I used to cover it up by teasing you, talking about _way_ Older Bones – but I’ve just figured it out, I fucking _know_ what we gotta do.”

Bones doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t call Jim crazy, just nods, climbs onto the bed, pulling Jim by the hand with him. “Tell me…”

 

+++

 

 _Starfleet Academy: January 31st , 2258 – Jim is 25, Leonard is 31_

Jim  
Jim takes an opportunity to take a mental snapshot of the petite, serene woman on the monitor. It’s the first time he’s seen Jocelyn and he thinks back to the blonde strand of hair he found that time in Bones’ bathroom in Atlanta and clenches his jaw. He hasn’t until now realized that was hers, remembers how hurt he’d been and there’s a knot deep inside him that she’s shared so much with Bones. But, then he takes in the drawn, nervous expression of a very tired Leonard McCoy by his side and shakes it off. This is not about him.

He pulls up a seat off camera and sits on it cowboy style, chewing a thumb nail, he says, “Ready, Bones?”

Then, Jim considers, she would be thinking just the same about him. From her point of view, her ex-husband didn’t even meet Jim until they’d been separated for six months – shit, she’ll have no idea how far back they go, how intense their involvement has been. This plot’s as complicated as a Russian novel and it’s only going to get worse in the immediate future.

“Hello, Len, sorry I’m late – I was…” her voice trails off and Jim realizes she must have been busy with Joanna, wants to spare Bones being reminded how he’s missing out on life with their daughter. He notices Bones’ neck tense, yeah – he’s figured it out.

“No problem, Joss. I’m relieved you’ve agreed to talk to me.” Jim can tell from his heavy drawl he’s upped his dose of Drink Me.

“The email you sent was sketchy, Len, what’s this all about? You said it was to do with a cure for your jumping, and that I could help – how? I want to, of course…”

“Joss, it’s a long story, but it kind of needs to be if I’m to give you the full picture.”

“That’s okay, Len, take your time. I said I’d listen, and I’m really excited to hear you’re on the way to fixing this thing.”

Jocelyn accent is less pronounced than Bones at this time, but that could be because she’s aware of the presence of her ex’s ‘friend’, currently sitting in the room but staying off camera so as he doesn’t intrude. Bones hasn’t told her about them, _None of her damned business – means I’ll have to start asking after that asshole, Treadway and I’m not doing that._.

Understood. Right.

“See, the thing is, Joss, I need your help. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary…”

Jim knows Bones is prevaricating, worried that Joss, for all their ‘mature’ relationship now, will deny him the one thing he needs to make this work, access to Joanna, though she’d be crazy to – still…

“I know that, Len, now come on, tell me.”

“Okay, I’ve been working on a procedure to cure the jumping. I’m convinced it can be done but I’ll need to give you a little background first. Okay—” Jim hears Bones draw a long breath, winks at him when their eyes meet for a second. “I know I can cure Joanna, that’s more important than fixing me.”

Jocelyn’s hands, one resting on her upper arm, the other on her lap, clench as she listens, and her mouth falls open as she waits to hear the thing she’s probably wanted to hear most since Joanna drew her first breath, that she didn’t have to experience what her father had, that she would be normal.

“You need to do this _now_ , Len – I know you were nine when you first jumped, Len, but what if she does it sooner than you? Some days, I daren’t take my eyes off her.”

Jim watches her image on his PADD, how her eyes are shiny with tears and how she looks over her shoulder into the room behind her.

“Joss, really, it’s okay. She won’t jump for at least another three years, maybe longer. I know this for certain. I didn’t tell you straight away because I knew she wasn’t in immediate danger, and, well, I needed to get some things straight before I contacted you with the news, didn’t want to get your hopes up until I could answer all your questions. I wanted to be able to say this is going to be okay, Joss. And that’s what I’m sayin’ now, hear me?”

“Yes, Len, yes.”

Jim wants to touch Bones so badly; he knew this was going to be hard for the two of them, but he knows he needs to stay out of this, that it has nothing to do with him.

“Okay, here’s the background – the reason Joanna and I have this disorder is because of something happened a hundred years ago. I recently found out my great grandpa married an alien woman, a humanoid. I can’t say the name of the planet she came from, as that’s classified, but what you _need_ to know is that she was a jumper. This is where this crazy fucked up mess comes from…

“Down the generations, jumpers were born into the McCoy family. I’d hoped I’d be the last one, until I found the gene in Joanna from the samples sent on after her birth.” Leonard takes a sip of his coffee. Jim can hear Jocelyn snuffling, can see her dabbing at her eyes, and he looks at Bones, wordlessly asking whether he should leave. Bones stretches a hand out, touches Jim’s arm off screen, lets his hand drop again.

“Joss, I _can_ cure her once and for all. Although it looks like crap now, I promise you I’ve figured out a sure fire way to inhibit the development of the ability before she jumps. Joss? Do you need to fetch water or something?”

Jocelyn laughs unexpectedly, “No Len, it’s a nice stiff bourbon I need, but best to keep a clear mind if you’re going to throw a heap of technical terms at me!”

Bones grins, eyes flickering to Jim again. “Okay, tell me if you don’t understand anything.”

“Yeah…”

“The jumping is a survival mechanism. Whereas we run or fight when we’re in danger, it’s an automatic response, the D…the ‘jumpers’, shall we call them, have evolved a step further. They’re able to escape threat by jumping through the fourth dimension - time. Now, although this is an inherited ability, the skills, how to _control_ the jumping, have been lost to my family over the years. So I, well, you know what I, _we_ went through ‘cause of that.

“They have the same hormones kick in when they’re frightened as humans do: adrenalin, noradrenalin, cortisol; but what I’ve discovered is that there are two nuclei in the brain, _inherited_ nuclei, that control the jumping.

"To understand it, you need to stop thinking of time as we see it – as linear, with a past, present and a future. Instead, imagine it as being a continuous _now_ – everything happening simultaneously. These nuclei produce chemicals which counteract each other.

"One, the temporic, produces _temporine_ , makes the jump happen – it activates a sympathetic vibration in the body at a molecular level which aligns it to the fourth dimension, thereby making time travel possible. It’s a bit like the way water passes through a sieve – this temporine allows the molecules of the body to pass through to another ‘now’, which you and I experience as our past or our future. This is why I could never take my clothes, or any object with me, even if I put it in my mouth as I tried a few times.

“To jump back, the other nuclei, the paratemporic, releases _sisterine_ and the body returns to homeostasis, causing it to jump back to its point of origin – which would be the ‘present’. The reason we have time, the reason Joanna hasn’t jumped yet, is that the paratemporic gland, the one which returns the jumper back to ‘normal’ – to the present, is greatly enlarged in infants, counteracting the temporine, so it’s essentially inactive for a few years. This ensures that pregnancies can run to term, and young children who have yet to learn the skills to control their jumping through time, stay put in the present. This is why Jo-Jo is safe for now, giving me time to work on curing her.”

Jocelyn shakes her head as she listens, overwhelmed no doubt with relief.

“And that’s what happened to our…to our babies, Len? They jumped because there was something not quite right?”

Bones voice gets noticeably softer as he adds, “I’m not sure what happened to all those pregnancies, Joss, but I’m guessing there was some kind of genetic defect where the babies’ brains didn’t have this protection.”

Jim sees her eyes fill with tears again, before she looks down and nods.

“After birth, as a child develops,” he continues after a short pause, “the hormone that stimulates growth in children also causes the paratemporic gland to gradually shrink in size. Generally around the age of five or six, with a lot less sisterine being produced, the child is physiologically able to jump. And, I guess you could say ‘mentally’ too as they’ll have had training to help them guide their jumps, understand what’s happening to them.”

There’s silence while Jocelyn absorbs this information. Jim cracks his knuckles nervously, he knows what’s coming.

“But, Len, how are you going to fix Jo-Jo? What does she have to do? She’s so little.”

Jim watches Bones pull at his bottom lip, lift his chin. “She doesn’t have to do anything, she jus’ has to be brave. I’ve developed a procedure, well within the bounds of my skill to fix this.”

“She has to have an operation? On her _brain_?”

Bones sighs, “Sweetheart, it’s the least complicated aspect of this. Now that I’ve located the nuclei, I can perform a simple graft. It’s a three step procedure. Joss?”

“But it’s her brain, Len. She’ll have to be with a perfect stranger all on her own while you cut into her.”

Fuck that was harsh and Jim can see Bones flush around the neck, wonders if he should fetch him some of the Drink Me in case he jumps but, he can see that the techniques Sarek’s taught them both, the hours and hours of practice are, once again, proving valuable. Bones closes his eyes, allows his wrist to loosen so his palms turn up. Jim sees him draw a few calming breaths and his voice, although gravelly, is measured.

“I can understand your concerns, Joss, remember _I’m her daddy_ , I love her too and I’d never put her through anything’s going to frighten her.” Bones sounds calm, in control, nothing makes him more focused and present than his work. Maybe he just reminded himself of that.

“I’m sorry, Len, I’m just scared.”

“I know. Makes sense – you’ve been through so much.”

They both look at each other for a long while and Jim feels another pang of jealousy at the bond that hard times fought bring a couple

“And you haven’t told me how all this will help you, Len?”

“I’ll come to that – it’s three steps: First I operate on Joanna to remove some tissue from her brain, from the enlarged paratemporic gland. Hers is still growing and if grafted onto _my_ brain, will stimulate the over-production of the hormone which keeps me from jumping – the sisterine. If I get the balance right, I’ll stop jumping for good. That’s the second part.

“The third part is using stem cells to renew the tissue I removed from Joanna’s paratemporic gland. It’s a simple case of reprogramming the new cells so they won’t be affected by the growth hormone, so it will never shrink in size and therefore jumping will never happen.”

“And our baby girl will be safe?”

“Yeah, and so will I. It’ll all be over, Joss.” Bones’ voice is a-tremble as he holds back the tears, the knowledge that the weight of almost a lifetime of suffering is soon to be lifted.

“Well, let’s do it, godammit!”

The two of them burst out laughing, as much as with relief as with Jocelyn’s self-conscious use of a Leonard-ism. When they calm down, Bones, leans sideways and tugs at Jim’s arm.

“Joss, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Shit, he wasn’t expecting that – he’d have put on his reds or something.

Jim leans so he’s in view of the screen. “Afternoon, Mrs., Miss…?”

“Ms Darnell,” she says quickly, saving him. She’s got a tissue in her hand still but she’s smiling, looks relieved although not as composed as when he saw her on screen at the beginning of the call.

“Ms Darnell – I’m Jim, Jim Kirk.” For once, other than that, Jim’s lost for words but, it appears Ms Darnell, unlike her ex, _is_ accomplished at social niceties.

“So, Jim, your boyfriend driving you as crazy as he did _me_ for years?”

Jim swears he can hear Bones’ neck crack as he does a most spectacular double-take beside him.

“Joss, how the hell—?”

She arches a thin, perfect eyebrow, “Leonard McCoy, I’ve known you since you were just a kid – there’s nothing you do will _ever_ get past my Atlanta trained radar. You want to keep things a secret from me, stop making puppy dog eyes at the boy off screen.”

“I have _never_ made puppy dog eyes in my thirty years of life, and I have no intention of doing so either!” But Bones is grinning, clearly relieved as hell, as Jim is, that this is all going to be alright.

“Now, Len, I have someone I think you ought to meet properly, someone should get to know her daddy if we aren’t going to have the hands of a stranger fixing her.”

Bones’ eyebrows do the caterpillar dance till they disappear into his bangs.

“You lost the power of speech? You’d better search it out if you’re not going to have our baby girl thinking her daddy’s a moron rather than a genius surgeon like I’ve been telling her.” And right there, Jim realizes why Bones must have fallen in love with Jocelyn Darnell – for in that moment, he almost does himself.

She stands to go fetch Joanna. “Oh and Len, you can tell me later how _exactly_ you’re going to fix it so you’re going to be in two places at once, having your brain poked and prodded while at the same time you being the one fixing Joanna?”

Shit, they were both hoping she wasn’t going to ask that – they haven’t quite figured out the details of that part yet; nor how, while the procedure’s complex but safe, it’s the rest of it that’s going to be risky as hell.

 

[](http://photobucket.com)


	10. 10

**Part 10**

 **White Rabbit:  
Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!**

 

 _Starfleet Academy: February 2nd, 2258 – Jim is 25, Leonard is 31_

Leonard  
It’s two long days until they are able to hook up a vid-comm with Sarek. In the interim, Jim’s been an almost permanent fixture in the labs alongside him when they haven’t been in classes and, in Leonard’s case, working the compulsory shifts at the med centre.

Jim’s asked Leonard a hundred and one questions about the procedure, making notes, getting himself up to speed as much as he can. Even without the medical background, he’s able to make suggestions; not about the mechanics of it, but about The Plan, spawned in Jim’s hard-to-fathom but brilliant mind in, of all places, the night two Leonards made Jim their plaything – _You know how they say I’m a genius?_ The threesome had been _Older_ Leonard’s idea in the first place, that time when the two versions of himself spoke on the ship in the future. He must have known that this would be the time when Jim came up with his idea – Leonard’s beginning to think that a five year mission into the black’s going to prove uneventful after the perfect circularity that is the strangeness of his life.

At first The Plan seems crazy, and they’ll need Sarek to help them think through logistics, no doubt about it, but Jim’s right – there _is_ a way. It’s crazy, incredibly risky, but it might just work.

+++ 

“I have read your communication, Doctor McCoy,” Sarek says from the screen, “and I have questions.”

“Of course you do, Mr. Ambassador, I’ll do my level best to answer them.” Leonard notes how Jim, sitting on the armrest of his chair, just oozes confidence – kind of like he did when he sprawled legs akimbo, in the captain’s chair on the Kobayashi sim – just before he failed the second time. Shit.

“Firstly, how confident are you the procedure will work?”

“Pretty sure. As you will have seen in my notes, it’s worked well enough in the sims I’ve run. I need to perfect it on live tissue, but I’m working day and night on that. We still have some time—”

“But not enough to train another surgeon to perform the procedure on you, is that not the case?”

“Yes, sir. I mean if we had another year maybe, but about that…Cadet Kirk has an idea he wishes to share about how we can maybe do this, and we would be grateful for your input.”

“I will be fascinated to know how the procedure is to take place, how you will graft tissue over the nuclei which force time travel, if you are the only surgeon with the necessary—”

“That’s exactly it,” Jim says excitedly, leaning across Leonard. “McCoy is the only person who _can_ perform it, so we need to fix it so _he_ can perform the procedure on _himself_.”

“Fascinating,” Sarek says. “And I presume you intend to do this by manipulating the time travel?”

“Yes, sir,” Jim says. “By having _two_ versions of McCoy in the theater – the one in the present as patient and one from the future as surgeon.”

“How is that possible, Cadet Kirk? There is a paradox here we must solve. If Doctor McCoy from the future is to perform the surgery, how will he be able to jump back to his past in order to carry out the procedure if he is indeed cured in the present? Should the operation be successful, from that point on he will be unable to travel.”

“I think we’ve figured it out,” Jim explains. “McCoy says he can’t change the past, but he _can_ influence the future. That suggests that from any point in the present, there are different possible futures, different timelines. So it stands to reason there’s a future version of himself who isn’t cured because he hasn’t done the op yet, and _he’s_ the one who will travel back to the past to do the op.”

Jim had once shared with him that after meeting Leonard at the hospital, meeting him in the present for the first time, that he began to think of Leonard’s present self and his future self as different people. Who knows – maybe they really were. Damn he needs some sleep…

“An interesting theory. However, if you are correct, the doctor would be unable to return to his time once the surgery has been completed, since he will be ‘cured’ and hence unable to time-travel.

“If he does not return, will this affect the future? If he does not return, logically he will not exist in his own time and will not then be able to travel back in order to perform the procedure.

“In addition, what are the implications for two Leonard McCoys co-existing in the present? Will the future version simply evaporate once the patient version – _you_ – are cured?”

A headache begins to form behind Leonard’s tired eyes – they were right – Sarek won’t let anything past his bullet-proof logic.

“This is why we needed to talk to you again, sir,” Jim says leaning further across Leonard so he wants to pinch him in the ribs. ”We haven’t been able to work this last part out. We’ve considered all these paradoxes.”

Damned charts…

Sarek looks even graver, if that’s possible. “If we take into account the unproven theory that the Preservers are involved in both your fates, one would posit that they will not allow such a paradox to hold you back.”

“You don’t believe in the Preservers?” Leonard’s voice is shaking a little – his older self had spoken in vague terms of their involvement, but he hadn’t said what evidence there was; he’d just believed his future self but, of course, belief in itself would never be an option, so he’s relieved when he hears the Vulcan say:

“That is not the case – I merely stated that their existence is not proven. They do not ‘exist’ in our time, in the sense that we have yet to discover them. On the other hand, I have no reason to doubt their existence, since our source—“he searches for the appropriate words, “—is reliable, it would be illogical to doubt their involvement or we would not have been given information about them.”

“So why are you even worried about paradoxes?” Jim wants to know.

“Worry is an emotion,” Sarek explains, and Leonard feels like he’s a kid all of a sudden, being explained a basic concept in kindergarten. “Logic dictates in this case that we do not know anything of the abilities of the Preservers. We believe they are involved but, we do not know that they are invincible or that they have the power to erase paradoxes.”

But, naturally, Jim’s not deterred by logic. His leg’s bouncing against Leonard now, his voice all energy and optimism. Yeah, the Kobayashi all over again.

“It’s logical then,” Jim says, “that we assume the paradox _must_ be avoided and eliminate the possibility of failure _on our terms_ , within our sphere of influence.”

“Affirmative, “Sarek nods and picks up a PADD. “How long does the graft take to have effect, Doctor?”

“When the tissue is grafted, it’s essentially ‘dead’, sir, and needs to be re-generated. How fast depends on a great many factors.”

“One being the age of the donor, according to the computer predictions,” Jim says.

“Do you have a donor?”

Leonard digs his hands into the armrests of his chair, out of sight of the screen. “Yes, Mr. Ambassador, my daughter. As you know, to prevent her time travelling as well as myself, I will remove a small amount of paratemporic tissue from her brain and graft it onto my own, since this will stimulate the growth needed to stop the jumping.

“Then I will simply use stem cells to regenerate the tissue I have removed in my daughter and reprogram them so the temporic nucleus will be permanently inhibited.

“I say ‘I’, but of course, _this_ is the problem— yes, I can be in two places at once – that’s been proven by my ‘older’ self travelling back in time and sharing the same space with me; however, as you say, we don’t know for sure he could do that if I am cured in the present.”

“I am not convinced we can solve this paradox,” Sarek says.

“And _I_ am convinced we can.” Jim looks at them both, his eyes shining. “We’ve run through this many times, Bones, we have to take the risk.”

Jim and his damn charts; why he has to ever write anything down with his ability to memorize _everything_ and think about ten things at once is beyond Leonard, and, he sounds almost _excited_ at the prospect of risk. Typical.

“There’s no other way to stop this jumping,” Jim continues, “not in the little time we have.” Well it’s not _his_ ass’ll go up in smoke. “We keep our fingers crossed you won’t ‘cease to exist’, Bones, and that you’ll just be fixed.” Jim grins at him.

“Oh, good – you keeping your fingers crossed, that was obviously something we hadn’t considered.”

Leonard wonders what Sarek makes of this human obsession with letting things ‘just happen’ and ‘see how it goes’. He’s not so sure he’s a big fan himself at this moment in time. But, whatever Sarek thinks of human superstition, the Vulcan’s voice remains modulated when he speaks.

“If your future self is indeed able to return to the past in order to carry out the operation, it is imperative that the travel back in time is conducted with a high degree of accuracy. Have you become more accomplished in your meditation, Doctor?”

“I’ve been practicing a great deal, sir. I am enormously grateful that you’ve shared such ancient wisdoms with us and, because of those, I’ve managed to aim with increased accuracy pretty much every time over the past few months. Trouble is, the coming back to the present is the tricky part. I jump back now within a couple of hours – going forward, on the other hand, coming ‘home’ so to speak, has sometimes been mighty messy.”

“McCoy can become even more accurate, narrow the times down to minutes; we’ll do this,” Jim says, nodding.

Sarek’s eyes narrow as he thinks. “Then your next target is to ensure that your image of the present is vivid enough to ensure traveling forward to your own time is accurate.”

Sarek questions Leonard in detail about the specifics of his visualizations in the moments just before he returns to the present, then says,

“You require a physical anchor. I will send details to enable you to become more skilled before the procedure. The employment of a physical anchor, creating a further association for the unconscious, will add to the sense of the place, or site, to which you plan to return, and will increase accuracy. I will forward information on how to create this – it is simple but effective.

“In addition, send detailed accounts of all visualizations and the precise times and dates of your travel back and travel forwards over the next month. I will be able to assist further in the internal language you employ when you visualize and make it more effective.

“I require video of the simulations and subsequent work on live tissue. This will allow me to monitor your projected time frames for the procedure and your target times for travel.”

Oh good, _more_ assignments. “I’ll do that,” Leonard agrees making a conscious effort to sit up straighter so his weariness doesn’t leak through. He knows nothing will get past Sarek’s picky logic and if it does, well, Jim will deny it’s a problem in the first place and think of something. He’s got to.

“And you must ensure that you are aware of the precise dose of elixir you use on a daily basis in order that you are fixed in the present while in surgery, yet it has worn off sufficiently to ensure you are able to ‘jump’ when you are ready to.”

“I’ve begun a series of computer diagnostics, sir, but yes – I’ll be happy to keep you informed.” He’s been experimenting over the past few months with lower doses, taken more frequently to enable his jumping ‘practice’.

Jim’s been quiet for some minutes, taking this all in. “The paradox – I have a thought.

“If McCoy is here, in the present, it will make no difference if he ‘disappears’ completely from the future, no? Not if the future is ‘close’ enough to _now_ and we ensure that nothing significant happens between the time of the graft and the time McCoy returns to? We’ll need to do a few rehearsals, Bones. run some sims of the procedure, have everyone in their place, so we work out the timings to the second, so it all goes smoothly. Then we simply run the day of the procedure _twice, don’t you see?_ ”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I think I understand, Cadet Kirk. We prepare the doctor and his donor for the operation but at this point, we do not carry out the procedure – you will merely lie in the theater, waiting.”

“Yes!” Jim grabs Leonard’s thigh, out of sight of the screen while Sarek continues:

“We allow time to pass with you both lying there, two to four hours, however long our computations indicate is the optimum period required allowing for errors, your inexperience and so on—”

“—Then,” Jim finishes, “at the end of the allotted time period, Bones, you’ll get up from the operating table, go find some quiet place close by, sit in isolation and begin your visualization of the past—”

Yes, Leonard was beginning to understand where they were going with this.

“—of what was two or four hours _ago_ , or whatever, Bones, don’t you see?” Before he can respond, Jim excitedly plows on, “Then you jump back to the point you and Joanna went into the operating theater and _this time_ , when you revisit the hours that have just passed by, you’ll arrive at the theater ready to go, scalpel in hand, clicking your spurs like a cowboy.” Jim grins at him. “The you _in the past_ will be lying on the operating table waiting. Future you, _jumper_ you, performs the grafts on you in the present, Joanna etc, leaves the theater, returns to the room and waits it out.

“If the graft works, you’re cured. When we reach the point when future you jumped back, he should disappear because you’ve caught up with yourself, and it won’t affect anything because you’re in isolation. If it doesn’t work, future you will jump home and we can try again some other time.”

“Timing is of the essence, doctor as is the correct dose of elixir. It is imperative you do not return to your time, the future, before you have completed the three parts of your procedure as you outlined.”

 _No shit_.

Leonard looks at his hands, then back at the screen. It’s against his cautious nature; Jim and his leaps of faith – and what if his future self jumps forward to his own time while in the middle of it all? It’s so damned risky, and yeah, he’s got to finish training Doctor Ayesha up, and…dammit…

“Let’s do it. Sure, it’s as clear as mud. I’m gonna need diagrams to make this clear to me, plan it down to the last detail like a heist. I’m not putting Joanna at risk, but I understand the gist. I gotta practice my jumping till I’m like a marksman, back _and_ forth, prepare my daughter mentally, talk to legal so they don’t sue my ass, hone the procedure so, Jim…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t jus’ sit there like a frog on a log. We got work to do.”

 

+++

 

**The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. "Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?" he asked.  
"Begin at the beginning," the King said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop." **

 

 _April 29th, 2258 (and April 29th, 2258 revisited): Starfleet Medical Centre – Jim is 25, Leonard is 31 _

Leonard  
 _09:00 – the set up_  
Leonard‘s dog tired, too tired to live this day through _twice_ , but this is how it’s got to be if they’re going to beat this thing. They’ve rehearsed the timings before this, but now it’s for real.

The first part is the ‘set-up’. Where they’ll run through the procedure as if it was really happening so that time will pass.

For Joanna, Jim, Jocelyn, everyone else in the team assisting him in the theater, it will be like, ‘feel’ like, a dress rehearsal. He’ll be in the bed, Jo-Jo in hers, and for them, that’s all that will happen while a computer sim runs and the ‘patients’ stay put.

But for him, it’ll just be the beginning. Four hours after the procedure, enough time will have elapsed so that he can jump back to 08:45 and live the events through again, this time in the role of surgeon, and carrying out the procedure for real.

For Joanna, his ‘past self’ the one in the bed, everyone else involved, it won’t ‘be’ a re-run, it will just be the day unfolding. For him, older him, it’ll be the real deal. This means there will be two of him present and, at last, he will change the past.

They have to fix him, fix Joanna, thereby stopping the jumping and then, make happen or _prevent_ happening whatever the hell it is the Powers that Be have in store for him, for Jim. But today is just for the operation – whatever else fate decides to present him with later – the reason why the Powers That Be have put him through all this, well, he’ll think about and deal when the time comes.

The first step is the ’set up’ as planned – ‘The Heist’ as Jim insists on calling it in a phony, _appalling_ Brooklyn accent. He’s not quite driving Leonard mad, but Jim only has himself to blame if he kept wrestling Jim to the floor and kissing him into next week whenever he unfurled that goddamned chart of his and leaned on the table wearing his dumb spectacles and chewing a stylus.

Joanna’s in the bed, prepped, and she thinks it’s all a game. He and Joss have agreed to tell her it’s like a play, everyone has to rehearse and learn their parts for the real ‘performance’ tomorrow. Of course it won’t be ‘tomorrow’, it will be – from Leonard’s point of view at least – four hours later, but he needs a reason for her to sit there happily and it’s something she can follow. He tells her that’s why it’s called a theater. Dammit, it’s not quite a lie, but she’s only just turned three – she’ll ‘get’ it when she’s older. For now, the whole experience needs to be fun. He’ll leave that part to Jim who’s also taken as much pleasure in planning Joanna’s distraction and entertainment schedule as in building the details of the heist.

Joss is sitting nearby and Leonard’s decided he’ll dress the part, if anything it’ll amuse her when daddy’s wearing his patient’s gown and a ‘funny’ hat.

His support team are standing by, Jim and Joss too, naturally but for now, he’s in the moment, just enjoying _being_ with his baby girl.

He sits on the edge of the bio-bed, next to Joanna. She’s so tiny, her feet only reach a quarter of the way down. He squeezes her toes and she squeals, “Daddy!” and wriggles to free her feet from his gentle grasp. Leonard can’t get used to this little voice saying _that_ word – he’s only ‘known’ her three months. She’d been remarkably accepting and he knows he owes this all to his ex who’s never lied about him, never asked him not to send comms on her birthday. Once Joss had decided they should meet, he’d been back and forth on the shuttle to Atlanta, at last having an incentive to take the phobia-busting program Jim has been nagging him about for almost three years.

Leonard’s heart swells when she takes _his_ hand and says, “Love ‘ou, daddy.” Where the hell did all these brave kids, Joanna, Jim, come from?

“I love you too, baby girl, now, remember what I said – you won’t feel anything but you’ll stay awake so that if I ask you something you can tell me. Remember like we practiced, like the vid I showed you of the lady I fixed last week?”

“Yeah, you said, wriggle your nose and things to her – it was funny!” Leonard looks at Joss; she’s stepped back, given them some room and he’s so damned grateful to her he’s in danger of losing it. There’s so much at stake here; Jo-Jo will never go through what he’s had to go through, he’ll be able to see his little girl whenever he wants, he gets to go into the black with Jim, if the board approves their request to be posted together. It’s going to be a new beginning – if it works. If it doesn’t…well, for Jim failure isn’t an option. He slides his eyes to where Jim’s leaning on the window sill, framed by sunlight. How the fuck he looks this fresh on so little sleep is one of those scientific phenomena Leonard’s never gonna crack.

Jim’s duffle bag is brim full of vids, playing cards and picture books to keep Joanna entertained and, he knows it, despite his instructions that there must be no food in the theater because it’s unsanitary, there _will_ be stand by chocolate in there, more for Jim than Joanna; but still, Jim breaks rules on a daily basis.

“Okay, baby girl, daddy’s going behind the screen now. Now don’t jump when I come out a bit later, when you’ve seen the movie, and I say, BOO, okay!”

She squeals and a tiny hand thumps him on the arm. “You’re silly!” she says, hugging the white rabbit cuddly Jim brought her in a moment of poetic irony. “Now you got to kiss Jimmy,” she adds, “an’ say you sorry for makin’ him jump!”

“Go on, Bones, do as you’re told!” Jim smirks at him and Joss laughs nervously. Dumb name for a rabbit if ever he heard one and he purses his lips indulgently when Jo-Jo lifts its soft face to him.

“See ya after the movie, Jo-Jo, mommy will be here and your _old_ Uncle Jim too,” he says with a grin, nodding towards his annoying…well…’boyfriend’ seems like the right word. Now, if everything goes according to plan, it will be the beginning of some kind of normal relationship for them. “I’m just here, okay? Let the show begin!”

The sterile field buzzes as he passes through it, strolls to the bed behind the screen holding his gown shut behind him.

Time to find his mark.

 

+++

 

 _09:20 – the set-up_  
Leonard stretches out on the bio-bed. He doesn’t need an anesthetist since he’s not actually going to experience a real procedure. The Academy’s senior attending, Ayesha, runs a sim while her assistant makes notes. This is going to be one hell of a paper for her when she’s done – the publicity the procedure is going to bring the Academy while recruitment is low was one of the draws which swung the medical board when they rubber stamped use of their facilities. Leonard’s been clear about the conditions of the paper – he and Joanna will remain anonymous, and the ‘alien race’ will not be named.

“See you on the other side,” Leonard says wryly, and lifts a hypo and takes a second vial of Drink Me. The elixir will have worn off in just under two and a half hours, providing him with a short window of opportunity. Once the set-up’s over, he’ll take himself off, sit in solitude for a couple of hours so as not to affect ‘the future’ in anyway, and then jump back to the beginning of the day again, this time as surgeon rather than patient. Well, both…but he has to stop thinking, has to focus, allow time to pass, wanting the present to be over so he can jump backwards for the last time.

He begins his deep breathing routine and drifts off almost instantly, dimly aware of the lights from the monitors, Jim reading to Joanna. Leonard keeps insisting the book’s too difficult for her but as with everything, Jim never listens to advice, says he hates it when kids are treated like they’re dumb, when she’s obviously ‘inherited’ her uncle’s brains, so Leonard smiles when he hears Jim’s fake British accent:

 _“Alice laughed, ‘There's no use trying,’ she said, ‘one can't believe impossible things.’  
‘I daresay you haven't had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’”_

“You’re silly, Uncle Jim!” followed by an ‘ouch’ from his annoying boyfriend. Yep, Jo-Jo takes after her daddy mostly.

+++

 _12:15 – the set up_  
The alarm goes off. Blinking, Leonard sits up in the bed, and checks the timing on the sim. According to it, the procedure’s done, as planned.

He goes to Joanna. She and Jim have been building a house of cards on the bed’s table and it’s on its first tier. He picks up a card from the stack in Jim’s hand, looks at it: the King of Hearts and shows Jim who looks up at him through dirty blond lashes. His tongue flicks to the corner of his mouth, he takes it and rests it on top of the structure.

“Well, baby girl, it’s all over – thank you for helping daddy.”

“What did you do, daddy? We never do-ed the hoperation, you—“

“I ‘did’ do it, Jo-Jo, but I was very, _very_ quiet. Did you hear me?”

“No, daddy.” Her eyes are wide.

Leonard smoothes one of her pigtails, then strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. He nods at Joss to indicate everything’s gone to plan so far and she smiles wearily at him and rises from her chair to collect up the clutter of vids and toys on the bed.

Leonard passes his hand through the house of cards, watches it tumble then glances at Jim who gives him a thin smile.

“Listen, you stay there, I’ll go get changed and you guys can go get lunch. I’ll meet up with you again ‘later’.”

“Burgers!” Jim says, pretending it’s the rabbit talking to Joanna. “You pwomised!”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Burgers… well I can’t say I…yeah, sure, why not? If it’s only the _once,_ ” he says pointedly. If they get this right, when he jumps back in a few hours and revisits this moment, he’ll put his foot down and she’ll eat something healthy.

He disappears into the side room, the computer secures the doors, and strips out of his ‘patient gown’, gets back into his jeans and t,he pulls on his socks and sneakers and glances at the chrono – he’s got just under two hours left where he must sit in isolation until he can jump back. Fuck, it’s gonna be tight.

+++

 _14:00 – the set up_  
Leonard rises from the chair in the side room, kicks off his shoes, and pads to the door. Tells the computer to unlock it, so that he can get back in from the other side, later – now to ensure his isolation, no one can get in until the correct time elapses.

He removes the rest of his clothing and folds it. It seems an important difference, to choose to go into the fourth dimension like this, naked before he jumps, so unlike how it’s always been before, being yanked by the puppet strings by what felt like an unseen hand, leaving his clothes behind like his skin’s been flailed off him.

This time he’s doing it right. It’s on his terms, and if he jumps, then disappears because of the paradox, this will be the last time he has to go through this physical trauma. He feels butterflies, no _rats_ , gnawing at his insides, then mentally slaps himself upside the head and starts the ten minute visualization script he knows inside out, Sarek having shown him how the slightest variation in word choice affects the unconscious.

He’s memorized every detail of the theater, the layout, the colors, the pattern on Joanna’s pajamas, the angle of her pigtails. His visual memory has always been bullet-proof, and he finds it practically effortless to remember an image. But Sarek’s shown him how he needs to use all his senses, so over the past months, he’s had to work hard on his auditory memory, soaking up sounds; and to bring himself into a desired moment in the past, he needs to ‘feel’ his weight as his body lands in a place, bring to mind sensations and textures _like he’s there_ before he jumps. It’s exhausting but he’s damn proud how far he’s come.

He half closes his eyes in readiness, crosses and uncrosses his index finger and middle finger on both hands three times – it’s the nearest he’s got to ruby slippers and Sarek’s convinced him he needs this physical anchor, a way of associating the _intentional_ movement back in time with something physical, so his unconscious gets the message. And it’s worked.

He slips into his trance with ease and begins to recall images of the theater. He’s being real specific about his destination, he’s going to materialize right by the bed at 08:45 before Joanna arrives in the room so he doesn’t freak her out with his being naked, then he’ll sit on the bed, talk to her like he did the first time. He’s visualized the empty room many times in preparation, but his mind wanders.

He mentally examines her lovely little face, and he turns to Jim, feels himself melt inwardly at his good fortune, to know and love such a man. He remembers the expression of determination in Jim’s eyes, allows himself to tumble into their blueness for a moment, raises the adrenaline hypo to his neck…

Times running out…in two months he and Jim will be in the black, and at the exact same moment he feels his heart rate spike, he experiences a wave of worry he’s suppressed in months – their request to be posted together’s been with the board for months; surely they’ll approve it now. But the longer time passes, the more he’s beginning to think that, even with Pike on their side, maybe this isn’t going to go their way – what if they don’t get assigned to the same ship? After all they’ve been though together over the years to be separated again. As his molecules re-align, he doubles over, the bile rising to his throat and he begins to fall, when the temporal hurricane tosses him roughly and takes him back. He remembers the house of cards and fancies cards are falling around him because he was the one to break the structure…damn, he really shouldn’t have done that.

+++ 

_08:45 – revisited_  
Fuck.

Leonard’s nowhere near Starfleet Medical. He can tell just from the hum of traffic, the sound of a dog growling, the cool breeze teasing his naked skin, the stench of garbage, the feel of grit under his cheek. He gasps, his head canting back, then forwards as he heaves again his body shuddering from the effort, emptying itself out. He spits in an attempt to clear the foul taste from his mouth, wobbles to his feet while he quickly scans the immediate area. He’s not sure how accurate he’s been with his timing, but it’s the rush-hour, so he can’t be too far off.

He’s in the middle of an alley and he can see the bridge lit up by morning sunlight. It’s teeming with ground and air-borne rush-hour traffic, but he’s the wrong side and he’ll need to fucking run to get to medical, needs at least twenty minutes to do that, but first, he really needs some clothes or he’ll be arrested…

The medical scrubs he’s left by the screen are going to be no goddamned good to him now, nor those he’s hidden all over the Academy Campus, not here, not when there’s a massive guy with a slavering dog glaring at him like he’s a creep dropped from the sky, which he kind of is.

The dog’s some weird inbred creature – maybe not entirely Terran. He wonders if he should try to persuade the guy to lend him his comm, get transported into medical, and shit, why _the hell_ didn’t they think of this before?

“What are you, some kind of freak?”

Leonard stands tall, covers his balls and cock with his hands – it’s not modesty, more fear of the dog, yellow eyes fixed on his genitals like they might be some kind of potential meal.

“Yeah, I am – not the kind you think though.”

Leonard’s learned through bitter experience that when confronted by assholes like this, they expect one of two reactions; either you act scared, or you act aggressive.

The best way to disarm them, then, is to confuse them, say something random which often buys him time to run while they double-take. He’ll give it a go this time although his heart’s not in it – hell, maybe he just _needs_ a fight, he’s not sure, but this lunkhead is standing in the way of him and the end of his journey; fuck him, fuck his dog and _fuck_ the stupid universe.

He lets go of his balls and walks towards the guy, shoulders back, head held high.

“Can I borrow your comm? I’ve been mugged and the bastards took my clothes – I’m a doctor, I need to get to Starfleet Medical; I have two patients waiting there. See, I’m pioneering this procedure—”

“Hey, shut _the fuck_ up!”

The guy backs away while the dog, sensing the tension in the air, rears up on its back legs and settles into a tirade of barking, deep and business like. Leonard ignores him – sure he’s had his run in with dogs over the years, but this one’s all hot air, he’s sure of it, so he takes another step towards the guy.

“Seriously, man, just lend me the damned comm. It’ll take minutes to have me transported outta here and you’ll have helped save two lives – think about _that_.” Leonard tries not to think what might happen to his molecules when he’s jumped – he’s never been beamed anywhere before, but shit – he really has no choice.

“I _think_ you’ve mixed me up with someone who gives a flying fuck,” the guy says with the casualness of someone used to violence.

“Not really,” Leonard says, looking around for an escape route, “I like to keep up this façade that there’s always hope but, looking at your ugly-ass face, I dunno…”

The guys squints, looks a little disdainfully at Leonard’s balls, well, not his actual balls, but still. It must be five minutes now and Leonard wishes the guy would get the fuck on with hitting him, cut the small talk, so he can pick himself up and sprint but…

But, the bastard’s advancing now, leaning back at an angle to keep the dog from pulling him over. Leonard thinks back to the old movies he’s seen where wearing spectacles is a disadvantage and how there used to be a convention, etiquette that you don’t hit someone weaker, maybe being naked counts as a disadvantage?

He drops his voice, his shoulders, tries to make himself look a little less intimidating and says, “Look. I’m naked, you have a dog. What say we even the score a little and enjoy ourselves here?” The response is a ‘what-do-you-mean’ face so Leonard goes on, “Tie the dog up and let’s beat the crap out of each other – it’ll be fun.” He sets his shoulders back again – for Christ’s sake he’s naked. “I’m not that frightening am I, you need to hide behind your mutt?”

“Mother fucker," the Lunkhead hisses, like he’s not the only one been having a bad morning and this is the first bright spark in his day. Leonard can almost hear the rusty cogs in the SOB’s brain turning over as he deliberates what to do.

 _Damn_ , he wishes he knew what the time was.

Then, oh _joy_ , Lunkhead ties his dog to a dumpster. He advances on Leonard, all fake casual, but just when Leonard is thinking – lucky the Queensbury rules have lasted through the ages – when they’re just a few centimeters apart, Lunkhead pulls a knife.

Leonard is genuinely delighted – now he’s got something to _do_. He leans back, whips his right leg up and kicks the guy’s hand, sending the knife flying. He may be a born healer, but Leonard loves a fight, trained in his youth in martial arts, used his fists to get himself out of many a corner when he’s jumped, and he loves it nearly as much as sex. He’s rarely indulged in either in the past few months. He gets the anger out of his system in hand-to-hand with Jim, where Jim always wins – and isn’t that a turnaround after he gave kid Jim his first fighting lessons – but fuck, this feels _so_ fucking good – all his rage at the Powers That Be, his being tossed about like spume in the winds of time, having no… _fucking_ …control, well it’s all transposed to the point of contact between his foot and Lunkhead’ ribs with a second kick.

The dog’s going crazy now, barking helplessly, straining against his lead when he sees his master fall.

The guy crumples to his knees, a comical look of disbelief on his face that this well-spoken freak should know what he’s doing. Leonard almost laughs and catches himself, in danger of losing the advantage of surprise. He clasps his hands together, makes the decision to avoid the guy’s temples because he might fucking kill him, and really all he wants is to buy some time, work off some stress in case he double-jumps, and he swings and aims for the guys jaw. He grins at the sickening crack as Lunkhead’s bones give, he keels over in slow motion and, barrier number one, between Leonard and Joanna, ends up splayed on his back.

Leonard shakes his hands, they fucking hurt and steps clear. Sure he’s safe, he crouches and checks Lunkhead’s pulse, then shifts him into the recovery position but not before he’s removed his pants. He’s got a helluva gut on him, so not the best choice of clothes but, well – beggars can’t be choosers, Leonard thinks as he tugs them down over limp thighs.

“I’ll leave you your briefs, I wouldn’t want you to catch your death,” he says, stepping into the foul-smelling jogging bottoms, and he’s off running immediately, having memorized the street name so he can send help soon as he gets in. The sound of the dog barking, Lunkhead cussing now he’s staggered to his feet, ringing in Leonard’s ears as he sprints to the med centre, one hand holding his pants up, glad he knows the network of short-cuts and less busy streets, kicking himself for not picking up the comm when he could have called ahead and stopped those waiting from worrying.

Idiot.

“Hi, Anna,” he waves through the ER room and ignores the bewildered faces, “needed to limber up some before my op!”

Anna rolls her eyes at him. He knows she decided Leonard was crazy months ago but in this city of wack jobs, he’s hardly a front line contender for gold, so she looks back at her screen and adjusts her facial expression to apathetic.

He grabs a PADD from the desk and taps in the street name where he left Lunkhead, calls up a map. “There’s a guy hurt – send some help soon as — he must have fallen over while walking his dog…”

Leonard’s left wet footprints on the floor and regards them while he waits for the lift. The chrono tells him he’s should have been in the theater fifteen minutes ago, sitting on Jo-Jo’s bed, so he hasn’t got time for a shower, but the sterile field will make up for that, although he’ll smell funky. Yeah, they can make the time up.

+++ 

_11.15 – revisited_  
Jim  
Jim thinks about the two versions of Bones, out of sight behind the screen so Joanna can’t see them. He’ll never be able to get his head around the strangeness of this situation. He’s only ever seen them together in the same room, once before, that incredible night where the three of them…and, fuck… _way_ inappropriate to be thinking about that now.

“Move your left hand, baby girl,” Bones’ voice comes through the screen. Joanna doesn’t take her eyes off her second movie but obliges. On the other side, the Evil Twins, as Jim likes to secretly think of them, are watching Joanna’s reaction on a monitor. The tests are routine after brain surgery checking muscle response, and so forth. Her memory seems unaffected and the scans have shown the programmed stem cells have begun their regeneration of the removed tissue which now will never shrink in size, unaffected by Joanna’s growth so she will never jump.

Jim watches the computer data on the screen, only partially following it, but he understands enough to allow his body to sag a little now the pressure’s pretty much over. He zones out a little while the two versions of Bones finish up behind the screen. It’s incredible that all that was required was a local anesthetic for the keyhole surgery, and a hypo to prevent a headache. Bones and Joanna will be up and about within a few hours, once the osteoregen has knitted together the tiny hole, although it’ll be a few days before hair on the tiny area of exposed scalp will begin to grow back.

“Looking forward to your burger?” he whispers, an elbow on Joanna’s bed, and addressing Jimmy the rabbit. “Sure am, Uncle Jim!” The rabbit ‘replies’ and Joanna giggles, then yawns. It’s been a long morning for her – all of them.

Jim knows intellectually that they’ve all experienced these hours ‘twice’ although how that’s even worked, not when Bones insists he’s never managed to change the past before, he can’t begin to comprehend. He’ll have to get Bones to tell him all about the time ‘before’, the ‘set-up’ which, of course he has no memory of because for him, for everyone in this room except for Older Bones, it never happened – this is the first time they’re experiencing that morning. If Jim ever gets to meet the Powers That Be Annoying as Hell, he must remember to give them a fruit basket, if indeed such advanced beings even eat…his train of thought is interrupted by a gruff voice from behind the screen.

“I can hear you, Jim!”

And Jim and Joanna exchange ‘oh noes’ faces. They were really counting on Jim running across the street to fetch burgers and fries in.

Jocelyn’s happy enough everything’s gone smoothly and has gone for coffee for them all, and juice for Joanna. She sits up when her mom comes back with a tray.

“Shh…donuts,” Jocelyn says her face a picture of relief and exhaustion. Jim’s given little thought to what Jocelyn’s gone through the past few months, too wrapped up in The Heist and supporting Bones whenever he can, as well as his crazy-as-fuck work load in the last run up to exams. Yeah, his mind’s been too full of his own shit to consider Jocelyn; he’s been helping Bones and…and here he feels a little trickle of guilt when he thinks this, ‘the prep’ he’s put in for the next, and what’s got to be his last Kobi’sim, stuff which Bones knows nothing about. There’s no way he’ll manage to wrangle another go at the sim after this, but damned if he’ll be beaten this time, whatever it takes.

“I’m done here,” Bones sighs.

Jim pats Joanna’s hand, and exchanges looks with Jocelyn, getting silent permission to leave them so he can walk round the screen and see how Bones is doing.

 _His_ Bones is lying on the bed, grinning like a loon. It’s a rare sight, for sure, and Jim’s heart does a samba. His head whips to Older Bones, who’s sitting, arms folded, at the foot of the bed – he’s dismissed the nurses so the three of them can be alone together. Older Bones nods at Jim like he’s a passing acquaintance or something, all relaxed insouciance now it’s all over. It’s crazy, he’s only two hours older than Bones of the present, but it really feels like someone else, which he is.

“We did it, asshole,” Older Leonard says, addressing his counterpart. “I’d better be off soon, time’s-a-movin’on. Your paratemporic’s growin’ nicely and my work here is done.“

“How you doing?” Jim asks patient Bones, suddenly feeling a little awkward, not really sure why.

“I’m fine, the two of us will be up and about soon enough, thanks to asshole,” Bones says, nodding at himself. “You gotta go, I don’t want to watch you disappear; next time I see somethin’ like that, it’ll be a transporter beam – it’ll seem like nothing after what we’ve been through, eh, my brother?”

“Least I won’t have to put up with being called that any more,” Older Bones grins, “and get a shave, you look like shit.”

“I’m going to have a shave alright, “Bones says, drops his voice, then turns the speaker off so they can’t be heard by Joanna and Jocelyn. “Maybe get me a massage in the bargain – just as soon as I can get it up again. That’s one thing I won’t miss, I can tell ya.”

Jim’s head swivels one to the other as they banter, thinking how bitter sweet this parting must be for them. Then it hits him – _this is it_. He’ll never have his guardian angel come back to him again and he takes a step towards Older Leonard as he rises off the bed.

“I’ll miss you,” Jim says, a lump in his throat. Older Bones shoots a look at his counter-part in the bed.

“Avert your eyes,” he drawls and he pulls Jim in for a long, sweet kiss. “I gotta go,” he says, “there’s not much time left.”

“I know.” Jim feels tears pricking and he wonders how he’ll cope without the visits that have been a part of his life for the past eighteen years. It’s strange to feel like this; he’s going to have real Bones living alongside him, continuously now. He should be happy, ecstatic really, but he’s going to miss the adventure, the surprises. He can feel Bones watching him from the bed and he gives the man in his arms one more hug, bumps his head on his shoulder. Dark eyes regard him, and Bones leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Make sure you fuck him good later, Jim. That poor bastard sure needs to work off some tension.” Jim nods, his mouth dry and his eyes wet. “Love you, kid,” he says, then to his counterpart, “See you around, asshole.”

“Not if I see you first, asshole.”

Older Bones runs his hand through his hair, takes one last look at Jim, nods at his younger self, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” then mouths ‘I love you,’ at Jim and disappears through the doors.

+++ 

_12:30 revisited_  
Leonard   
Leonard looks at the chair in the side room, sinks down, kicks off his shoes.

“Secure doors for…” damn, he’s a little out, but they’ve caught up, since he managed to perform the surgery quicker than the sim, “…one hour, forty-five minutes.”

The grafts are working, he and Joanna are cured…now, he just needs to sleep, he’s so fucking tired, from the work, from the run to save his ass, earlier. From the relentless pressure.

He wonders if he’ll remember this moment in this room, wonders how you can even remember something that happens in the future…fuck, so confusing.

He imagines how they’re all be talking about eating burgers, wonders if that’s what they’ll end up eating, or will his counterpart suggest something healthier? He’ll never know. Now, all this, it’s as fragile as a dream, the way memories are sometime – elusive, running through your fingers like water till all that’s left is damp palms and nothing else.

His eyes start to flutter shut, he taps his heels together, just because he thinks it’s appropriate, then crosses his feet at the ankles, he’s not sure where he’ll jump to this time, if the graft in his counterpart regenerates quicker than he’s anticipated, maybe he’ll just disappear – who knows? He won’t bother with a visualization, he’ll leave this one to The Powers that Be…

He crosses and uncrosses his fingers, thinks he can hear a tapping on the door but he’s so sleepy, takes a deep breath, raises the adrenaline hypo to his neck and then all there is, is blackness.

+++ 

_14:30_  
Jim  
On the half hour, the locks slide open, seconds after Jim’s been knocking on the door, to see if Bones is alright, if he’s jumped.

His head’s pounding when he steps into the room and sees it’s empty. On the chair, there’s a pile of scrubs like a deflated balloon in the exact same position they would have been when Older Bones was wearing them. He’s gone.

Jim reaches for the clothing, presses his face into them and inhales Bones’ distinctive scent. He sees the hypo fallen to the floor and a look at the dial shows it’s only been used the once. Bones jumped, or most likely evaporated into nothingness without it.

Tears begin to fall when he realizes with joy and sadness that Older Bones is really gone: Bones who he’s always looked up to, who had time for Jim when no one else did when he was a kid, his first, bestest friend as he used to call him. Bones was the only one to truly believe that Jim was good, not bad; he was the man who taught Jim how to stick up for himself and to fight so the bullies quit hurting him at school – so he finally had the guts to hold his own against Frank; it was older Bones who gave him the lottery money so he could survive those first few years away from home; and helped him survive Tarsus; listened to Jim rage and rail when he needed to vent in his teenage years; who always supported him no matter how much of a drifter he seemed to be; who kept him sane, who was always there, taught Jim how to hope and how to believe in himself, respect himself; he was the only person who made love with Jim – who just loved him unconditionally body and soul – _this_ man – his guardian angel – is gone.

Drying his eyes, Jim folds the clothes carefully, takes one last look at the room Older Leonard once occupied, and returns to his Bones, the one who will always be there; for surely now, Jim’s been left behind for the last time.

+++ 

_Starfleet Academy, shuttle hanger 1: June 2nd, 2258 - Jim is 25, Leonard is 31_

Leonard  
They didn’t call Jim’s name.

They aren’t supposed to be separated again – this isn’t _supposed_ to fucking happen. But the idiot’s on academic suspension and they won’t let him on the shuttles.

Damn, if Leonard hadn’t been so wrapped up in preparation for the procedure six weeks ago, if he hadn’t have been giving precious time to Doctor Ayesha and her damned paper about the time-travelling and the cure, and if he’d _paid_ attention, he would have known what Jim was up to – Leonard might have been able to stop him. And this wouldn’t be happening.

And now Jim’s got that _look_ on his face, the one Leonard hasn’t seen on him since he was nine and hiding out in his daddy’s car, the same brave face but the wide, sorrowful, _abandoned_ eyes.

There’s that familiar feeling of powerlessness, like Leonard hasn’t experienced since he was transported against his will into another time. It overwhelms him and he utters some pathetic words and Jim nods bravely, tries to hide the tears welling, again – _I’m not a baby_ – but, Jesus, the crashing let down when they’ve both come this far, done so much.

And Leonard can’t help – shit.

Leonard turns, walks away, _drags_ himself the first couple of steps, and it really feels like he’s physically attached to Jim, each step feels like he’s _being_ …but he _has_ to go. He tries to bolster his resolve.

Two steps: they have a duty to answer Vulcan’s distress signal and, while he’s got no choice but to do that, yeah, and he _owes_ Vulcans for fixing his daughter, for fixing him – and, wtf? that was _Spock_ ? He knows that despite the _pull_ to stay with Jim, Leonard knows he has to keep walking.

Four steps: he tries to shake off his last image of Jim as the only island of stillness in a sea of red cadets streaming to board the shuttles.

Seven steps: his heart’s lead. So _this_ is what they worked for? Why he put himself through all the fucking training, why he believed in himself lately, and in Jim always?

Eleven steps: Leonard was wrong – maybe he’s inadvertently fucked up the future and won’t serve with Jim after all. Maybe, despite what they’ve both believed, they _weren’t_ meant to be together.

Twelve steps: on the other hand, he thinks – clutching at fucking straws – maybe those times he was separated from Jim, _maybe_ that was to prepare him for _this_ moment so that yeah, it was going to hurt like hell, but they’ll both survive and they _will_ gravitate towards each other. In time.

Thirteen steps: and Leonard’s thinks how lately he’s given up trying to work out _why_ he had to fix himself, what the Powers that Be wanted from him – maybe it was just for Joanna’s sake. But why would the universe intervene for a little kid? Maybe she’s going to amount to something incredible one day; maybe Leonard plays a hand in it. Maybe that’s why – _maybe_ it had nothing to do with Jim after all.

Fourteen steps: whatever, Leonard’s fucking sick of being the plaything of the gods.

Fuck them, fuck _all of them_. There has to be a way, if anything Jim’s taught him that.

This isn’t a no-win scenario – he can’t fucking leave Jim behind – whatever The Powers that Be have planned for him.

He’s had enough, he’s throwing in the towel for good.

Fifteen steps: Leonard turns on his heel, strides back towards Jim, grabs his elbow.

“Come with me,” he says, ignoring Jim’s bewildered expression.

So Jim’s on academic suspension, so what? _So shoot me_. Jim’s coming with him, on the _Enterprise_ , and consequences be damned.

Leonard ignores Jim’s questions as he searches through the vaccine tray.

Jim needs to just shut the fuck up; _he’s_ in charge now. Yeah, Leonard McCoy’s sick of being the Joker in the pack of cards. He’s taking _over_ now and he’s gonna trump the Powers that Be Annoying and their stupid plans for him, or Jim. It’s about time he chose his own destiny.

Yeah, Leonard McCoy’s the one who’s become the master of his fate. _He’s_ the one needs to choose the path he takes now; it was just a matter of time.

END

 

[](http://photobucket.com)

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **additional author’s notes**
> 
> Additional thanks:
> 
> This fic has ruled my life for the best part of six months and it has been a hell of an experience writing it and, I want to thank a few people who helped me think it through and spurred me on because, I _really_ came close to bailing more times than I can say.
> 
> Firstly, thanks to who planted the original seed that this would make a great story for Jim and Bones when we had a comment discussion about the movie, The Time Traveler’s Wife; to weepingnaiad who had a sneak preview months ago and was very encouraging; to emiliglia who talked through McCoy’s whole brain-grafting specialty with me. I had no idea how to even start thinking about a cure and I needed something plausible and brain-grafts are a canon speciality for our good doctor so – phew! This gave me the foundation I so badly needed when science scares the hell out of me! Finally, thanks to lindmere for discussions about twisty timelines and how to involve our good Sarek!
> 
> Also thanks to fanmixer leighblack for her incredible soundtrack for this story. I just cried with joy when I first heard it, it was so spot on and thanks to artist anoncomment7 for her enthusiasm from day 1, and for picking my fic!
> 
> A finally, few ‘references’’ that may or may not amuse you:  
> +++In case you hadn’t realized, all the science was totally made up and the detailed theory re the temporal and paratemporal nuclei was all awarrington’s invention. My invention only comes to the forefront when rearranging the boys’ limbs in sexual positions!
> 
> +++ the origin of the jumper aliens – my research showed that the native Americans who lived in Georgia were the Cherokees so, the name Det’hnih’di comes from the Cherokee for ‘jump’.
> 
> +++ and McCoy’s great grandma’s name was N’kwhi’si and is the Cherokee word for 'star'. The fact that she’s called Christine back on Earth, well, I probably don’t need to explain where the link is there ;D
> 
> +++ when Spock uses his authorization code to delete his query and the subsequent search from the computer, he says “Alpha one three Alpha one four Delta Alpha.” This ‘spells out ‘AMANDA’. The letters ‘A’ and ‘D’ are self-explanatory, but the numbers refer to the position in the alphabet for other letters in her name ie, the 13th and 14th.


End file.
